Fatal Kiss
by TheFirstMrsHummel
Summary: AU. Two mercenary assassins find themselves brought together as rivals...and maybe something more.  Rated M for violence, swearing and smut.  Warnings for occasional blurring of the lines between sex and violence, so pass on by if it's not your thing.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello there, readers. Welcome to my first ever completely AU fic. In this story, there is no cannon Glee backstory, so Kurt and Dave have never met before, never attended McKinley, etc. Some other familiar characters will show up, but they too are not from the cannon Glee-verse. I will be honest and say that I haven't been this nervous or unsure writing something since I put the first word of Earning It down on the page, asking myself what someone like me could possibly be doing writing a story about two gay teenage boys falling in love.**_

_**I've never really read any spy or other types of novels in this genre with the exception of The Da Vinci Code (I tried to read Angels and Demons but I couldn't get past the first chapter, it just wasn't my thing). But I was so inspired by this photo manipulation of Chris and Max in suits, looking quite dapper (remove spaces). h t t p : / / 24 . media . tumblr . com / tumblr_luw1l7E7uc1qjka6co1_500 . png UNF, right? I'm not sure if my inexperience in the genre will be a good thing or a bad thing, but I'm hoping for the best. :)**_

_**Warning that for these guys, violence is not only a way of life, it's a bit of a turn-on too. So if you have any triggers/issues with the combination of sex and violence, this is probably not your fic. I'm being upfront about this, so please no nasty PMs or reviews on that front. If it ain't your particular kink, please drive through.**_

_**So, if you feel like you're up for sailing the uncharted waters with me, my Pirates, I welcome you aboard. Here goes nothing.**_

A sleek black Infiniti G37 quickly passed the entrance to Kiss & Fly, pulling around the corner and slipping into a recently vacated metered parking spot. Dave Karofsky killed the engine and exited the car, discretely checking out all angles of the street that he could see in his peripheral vision. He went over to the meter and slid in that evening's current credit card, entering the full three hours allowed. Tugging on his slate gray blazer worn over a deep blue, open necked shirt, he made his way to the club's entrance. The music was so loud, Dave could hear it well before he reached the front door. He handed over a twenty dollar bill to the bouncer for the cover charge, waving his hand when the man reached to make change. Raising an eyebrow, the bouncer stamped the back of Dave's hand, and Dave breezed past him into the club.

It was your typical high-end gay club. There was a time when a bar like this would have never existed in Austin, but with the gentrification of the city's warehouse district came many businesses that would have previously been impossible to open. Despite it being located in one of the most conservative states, Dave couldn't see much difference between this club and one in New York, or L.A. You had your pulsing dance beat, your flashing lights and fog machines. Sweaty, writhing bodies on the dance floor, and elevated cages with pretty, smooth boys in nothing but the tightest of shiny hot pants in various colors. Dave made his way to the bar, ordering a Chivas Regal on the rocks from the bartender. It was more a prop than anything else. Dave leaned back against the bar, his body language relaxed and belying his sharp eyes as they searched the dim and foggy club for his target.

It didn't take too long. The club was large, but Dave had been certain he was stationed in the right area to spot the target; namely, the dance floor where go-go boys were in easy abundance. He caught the glint of a shiny, balding head, and a quick look immediately placed the man's face over the one in his mind, from the dossier he'd been provided with. Sandy Ryerson was sweating profusely and bopping awkwardly to the music, talking to a go-go boy in turquoise _lamé_shorts and nothing else to speak of. The boy was smiling encouragingly, and reached out to stroke down the arm of Ryerson's cheap suit. Dave could practically see Ryerson shudder from where he was. It was really no wonder. Although Dave had certainly seen his share of twinky dancers and rent boys in his day, this one was a particularly nice specimen. While a lot of them seemed blank and detached, often because they were on something, this one's face was animated, his eyes wide and almost sparkling. His body was hairless and lean, but there was just a touch more muscle definition than Dave was used to seeing for his type. His grin was positively sinful, and Dave could definitely see why Ryerson was intrigued. While Dave didn't often indulge himself, when he did, it was usually with men just like that. And always for pay.

Dave watched, taking a sip of his drink, as Ryerson reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He fished inside, pulling out a few bills. The boy pouted sultrily, shaking his head. Ryerson pulled out another three bills, and the much younger man's countenance changed instantly. He smiled, bringing his arm to Ryerson's waist and pulling their crotches together. He whispered something in Ryerson's ear, bringing a gasp to his lips and a thrust of his hips. Winking, he walked away, leaving Ryerson wiping his forehead and almost visibly drooling. A few minutes later, the boy came back. He was still wearing the same obscenely tight shorts, but had added a white cropped top and sneakers to the ensemble. He linked hands with Ryerson, who began to lead them out of the club towards the door.

Dave set his drink down and made his way to the door quickly, beating Ryerson and his little fuck-toy easily. Dave was a large man, but he could move as lithe and silent as one much smaller. He walked briskly to his car, slipping inside and making a u-turn as soon as he pulled away from the curb. Heading back to the club's entrance, he paused at the corner until he saw exactly what he expected; Ryerson and the boy taking his vehicle from the valet attendant. Dave guided his car behind them into traffic, always staying a discrete two car lengths back. It was always possible that Ryerson would be on the lookout for being tailed, but Dave knew his type well enough to assume that all the man really had on his mind was getting his rocks off with that pale, slender boy.

It took them less than ten minutes to get to their destination, the Four Seasons Hotel directly adjacent to the Lady Bird Lake. Once again, Ryerson handed his car off to the valet. As soon as Dave saw him and the boy enter the hotel, he drove into the hotel's parking garage and parked. He took out his iPhone, tapping the extremely specialized app he'd programmed himself. Needless to say, it wasn't anything like you'd find in the Apple store. Within moments, Dave was able to bring up Ryerson's hotel account. He hadn't checked in under his own name, but Dave's research showed that the man used a number of pseudonyms repeatedly, and it took little time to find the one he'd registered under in Austin. From there, Dave inserted a small plastic square into the headset jack of the phone. Taking a blank key card from his wallet, he slid the card through the top of the grooved square, which provided him instantly with a duplicate copy of Ryerson's hotel room key. He stowed his phone and reached over to the glove box, taking out his favorite gun for up close and personal dispatching, a Beretta 87 .22 caliber. He'd threaded the barrel himself to adapt it for his own custom silencer, and it had seen him through many a job like this. Tucking the gun into the back of his pants and palming the newly created keycard, he locked the Infiniti and headed towards the hotel elevators.

Dave road the elevator up to the eleventh floor and exited, turning right immediately. He had briefed himself in advance on the layout of the hotel, so once he knew which room Ryerson was in, there was no need for hesitation. He glided silently up to room 1121, stopping to check that the hallway was deserted. He pulled out a small silver object with an attached earpiece, and placed it against the door. The now-amplified noises he could hear were exactly what he had been hoping for; moans and whimpers that suggested Ryerson and the boy would be too distracted to hear the click of the lock releasing and door opening. Dave tucked the listening device away and slipped his keycard in the door, moving inside the room quickly.

Ryerson had booked an executive suite, which made things a lot easier. Down a short hallway there was a small sitting area with plush furniture, and the bedroom was through a set of double doors. Although the doors were open, the doorframe greatly limited the view of the sitting room, and it was a piece of cake for Dave to sneak up to the doors and peek inside without revealing himself. He pulled out his gun, holding it out to the side, and looked around one of the slightly ajar doors.

His trained eye took in everything at once. There was a residue of white powder on a small table, along with a razor blade and straw. Ryerson was standing at the foot of the king sized bed, wearing nothing but rather saggy looking white briefs. Every light in the bedroom was on, and the brightly lit interior was not doing his pasty, lumpy flesh any favors. The boy was tied to the bed with canvas straps that Dave could tell were designed for exactly that use. He still had his tiny shorts on, but that was all. His eyes, which Dave could now clearly see were an unusual blue-green color, were fringed with outrageously long lashes. Those eyes were large and teary, as they looked down the bed at Ryerson. The picture he made was arousing to be sure; had Dave not been so disciplined, he could have easily gotten distracted by it. Dave wondered if maybe the whore was new to the game, and hadn't had any of his tricks get too kinky before. Or perhaps they were role-playing? But then he noticed that the boy was staring not down the bed at Ryerson, but at something _on_ the foot of the bed.

"Are you ready to play, pretty?" said Ryerson, in a high, slightly manic voice. He laughed shrilly at the boy, who gasped and shook his head. Reaching forward, he pulled a wickedly sharp looking switchblade knife from the rumpled sheets, brandishing it. Though he wouldn't have thought it possible, the boy's eyes got even bigger, and he started to whimper pathetically. Ryerson moved around to the right side of the bed, and began to caress the boy's chest with the flat of the blade. "It's okay, my sweet boy," he said. "It'll only hurt a little bit, then I'll fuck all the pain away. But first, I need you to bleed for me." He adjusted his grip on the knife, then made a quick slashing movement. The boy cried out, and Dave saw a thin spill of red run down his taut chest.

Dave observed the scene coldly. This scenario could work to his advantage. He would let Ryerson get the boy good and sliced up, so there would be plenty of DNA evidence all over Ryerson's body. He thought about even waiting until he'd fucked him, so there'd be come as well as blood, but thought twice about waiting that long. Not to mention what would likely be the far from attractive sight of Ryerson's old, wrinkly ass pounding the whore's firm one. If it had to be done, fine; but since it wasn't necessary, he'd skip that part. When both of them were bloody enough, he'd come up behind Ryerson and put a bullet in his head. He'd stab the boy in the ribs, delivering an injury that would disable him from running away, but not kill him instantly. He'd take care of the other half of what he'd been paid to do, and slip out with nary so much as a drop of blood on him. When the bodies were discovered, they would assume that the boy had been stabbed by Ryerson, but managed to get a hold of his gun and shoot him before he died. He'd have to leave his gun behind, of course, but it was both untraceable and replaceable. He could take the silencer with him, at least. It couldn't have been better if he had planned it out, and he took it as a sign that the job would probably go off without a hitch.

Ryerson climbed on top of the boy, trailing the tip of the blade down his sternum and torso. Considering how high he was, and the obvious erection beneath his underwear, Dave was surprised by his control. The blade made a scratch that allowed just a bit of blood to well up, but not drip down over the pale, porcelain skin. Dave guessed that he'd probably done this enough times to get exceptionally good at drawing it out, even when impaired. He drew the blade onto the fabric of the blue shorts, prodding gently at the softness inside the crotch. "Now now," he said. "We can't have this. I paid for you to be hard, boy." The whore moaned, but it was obviously one of fear and not pleasure, at least to Dave's ear. "You better get it up," he hissed. Or I'll make sure you can never get it up again." The boy bit his lip and closed his eyes, obviously conjuring up some sort of fantasy. After a few moments, a firm bulge began to rise from his crotch, pressing against the miniscule fabric covering it. Dave was honestly impressed. He was sure he could do just about anything necessary to ensure his own survival, but getting a hard on when you had a switchblade next to your cock couldn't be easy.

"That's it," said Ryerson. He switched the knife to his left hand, bringing it to the bed to brace himself on. With his now freed right hand, he reached for the button of the boy's shorts. In a move so fast, Dave's eyes could barely register it, the boy's legs flew up. The soles of his feet landed on the sides of Ryerson's face. A mere second later Ryerson's head was twisted viscously to the side, a resounding crack echoing in the now silent hotel room. The boy's feet held Ryerson's dead weight up for a moment, then his body was tossed roughly to the side, his upper half hanging limply off the bed.

Dave's brain scrambled to adjust to the sudden change in the situation. It wasn't like him to so badly misjudge what was happening in front of him. Doing that one too many times could get a man in his line of work killed, and Dave liked being among the living quite a bit. This was no twink whore he was dealing with; this was a professional much like himself. He looked towards the top of the bed. The man lying there still tethered to the headboard has the same soft skin, pert nose and angular cheekbones, but he looked like a different person entirely. His eyes were narrowed and dark, his no longer lush mouth set in a hard line. Focused, he rooted around the foot of the bed. He quickly drew his leg back, and the handle of the switchblade knife was clenched in his long toes. Dave watched, eyebrows raising, as he contorted his body and folded himself in half. Bringing his knee to his forehead, and foot to where his left wrist was harnessed, he slipped the blade behind his hand and started sawing away at it. It took a couple of minutes, but finally he was able to wrench his hand free. He grabbed the knife with it and cut his other hand free in seconds.

Dave could have easily taken the other man down from his position, but he decided to bide his time for the moment. It was likely he'd been sent on the same job, albeit from a different client. God knew there was no shortage of people who wanted Sandy Ryerson dead. He had no problem at all with letting this guy do most of the dirty work, then blowing his head off before returning with the spoils to his own client. It wouldn't be as neat as leaving the cops a wrapped up package of self-defense gone bad, but since Dave would be long gone from Austin before the bodies were discovered, it didn't concern him too much.

The man moved off the bed swiftly, making his way automatically to a soothingly colored print of flowers above a small writing desk. He lifted the picture off, revealing the standard hotel room safe beneath it. Ryerson was apparently stupid enough to keep his valuables in the room safe, a device which was so easily cracked, it wasn't even funny. While they were quite effective at keeping the housekeeping staff from making off with the average person's wallet, for anyone with certain information, they were easily accessed. Because hotel guests were often so terrible at remembering the self-created pin numbers they entered into the safes, most manufacturers set every standard safe with a reset code, usually known only to the hotel management. Each manufacturer's codes were different, and they did change from time to time. But an encyclopedic knowledge of what models could be opened with which reset codes was often possessed by men like Dave. Sure enough, the other man took a look at the make and model number on the side of the safe, and with a few swift button pushes, the door swung open. Dave watched him take a stack of bills out, ruffle though it, and set it on the desk. This was repeated several more times, until the desk was half-covered in cash. Finally, the man drew out a very large plastic ziplock bag, filled with smaller bags of white powder. He set it on the desk with the money, and Dave made his move.

Light on his feet, he walked into the bedroom, holding his .22 in front of him. The other man turned instantly, looking surprised before relaxing his features into what Dave could tell was a practiced ennui. Dave drew closer, never taking his eyes off the man for a second. He was well aware of how lightning-fast he could move. "You're good," the man remarked, in an unusually high pitched voice. Now that he was up closer, he could see that despite his youthful appearance at first glance, the man was probably in his mid-twenties, close to his own age. The wide eyed, innocent slut act had made him seem much younger. And the voice wasn't helping; he sounded like a boy who'd never quite managed to hit puberty all the way. The body definitely contradicted that, though. Despite his smooth and mostly hairless skin, the sleek build of his chest and arms, along with the impressive prominence in those brief shorts assured Dave that he was dealing with an adult male. And a dangerous one, at that.

"That so?" replied Dave, conversationally.

"You must be," the man said. "Never even heard you until a moment ago. It's very unlike me, you know."

Dave knew he was being stalled, but since he definitely had the upper hand, he allowed it. This particular adversary had caught his interest; and besides, Ryerson wasn't the only one who liked to draw things out on occasion. Dave had a gun pointed at the man's head, whereas the only other weapon in the room, the switchblade, was far out of reach. And it wasn't like he could be hiding anything from Dave, since he was barely wearing anything at all. Dave tilted his head ever so slightly. "And how would I know that?" he said.

The other man mimicked his body language. "You'll have to take my word for it, I guess," he said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dave felt a frission of…something, he didn't know what. It made him feel momentarily uneasy, which was not good. All he knew was that he now had what he came for, and there was no reason to stand around _bantering_ with this guy, for Christ's sake. "Well, no matter how good you are, you're only as good as you are when you run into someone better." Dave said. "So, while I appreciate your doing a lot of the leg work on this one, I'm thinking it's time to say goodbye now. I'm afraid I won't be able to tell anyone how helpful you were; it might be bad for my reputation." He felt his lips curl up, almost against his will. "You understand."

The other man sighed, shrugging one bare shoulder. "But of course," he said.

Before he had even finished the _s_ sound of _course,_ his foot whipped out and kicked the gun out of Dave's hand. Dave saw the movement and tried to tighten his finger on the trigger, but this guy was fast. Faster than anyone Dave had ever encountered. Like a fucking _ninja_ or something. His gun clattered to the floor, and before Dave could duck down to scoop it up, the other man punched him in the face. The pain exploded in Dave's nose, which was likely now broken. Again. He recovered quickly though, grabbing the man's retreating fist and pulling him forward. With his other hand, Dave balled up his fist and delivered a brutal punch to his stomach. The man bent inward, and Dave followed it up with a solid strike to his jaw. His head reared back, and blood flew from his split lip. But then he yanked his hand out of Dave's grip, grabbed the back of Dave's head, and crashed their foreheads together.

"Guh!" shouted Dave. His vision momentarily blurred, as his brain slammed against the back of his skull. The man took advantage of his momentary weakness, swinging out his leg and knocking Dave's feet out from under him. Dave fell back, unable to keep his balance, his head crashing to the thankfully carpeted floor. He tried to sit up as soon as he could, but there was a pressure on his chest. He opened his eyes, squinting. The pain in his head was making his eyes sensitive to the bright light. He saw a shadow above him, and opened them a bit further.

The man was straddling his chest, holding Dave's gun steadily in line with his forehead. His pale chest was slick with sweat, and the blood from Ryerson's earlier ministrations. Blood still leaked from the corner of his mouth, and he swiped out a pink tongue to lap at it. Dave groaned in pain, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on in his hazy condition. "Like I said, big guy," he said, grinding his hips into Dave's chest. "You're good. Of course, someone once told me that no matter how good you are, you're only as good as you are when you run into someone better." He pressed the barrel of the silencer against Dave's brow, caressing his cheek with the other hand. The hand traveled further, down his neck and into the vee of his open shirt, fingers tangling in the damp chest hair. "Allow me to introduce you to your better," he said, leering.

"Fuck you," spat Dave, greenish-gold eyes burning bright.

"Maybe some other time," suggested the man, leaning down quickly to nip at Dave's ear with sharp teeth. He came back up before Dave could even register the movement. "For now, I think you'll do better as a scapegoat. Nighty-night, big guy." Dave saw him draw back the gun and flinched. Blinding agony crashed into his temple, and after that there was nothing but blackness.

Dave came back to himself sometime later. He sat up swiftly, nearly crying out at the pain in his head, and the twisting in his gut. He forced himself to his feet, swinging around to look at the desk. The money and drugs were gone, along with his gun and silencer. _You little __**fucker**_**,** he thought. Dave turned away, to where Ryerson's body still lay hanging off the bed. He pressed the back of his hand against the nape of Ryerson's neck, noting that there was still some residual heat there. He knew then that not much time had passed, and he still had a chance to get the fuck out of Dodge. He didn't fool himself that his counterpart had done him any favors. There were many other men with a much less harder head, and a less finely tuned instinct for survival, that would have had to be awakened by the police the next morning after what he'd been through.

Dave slipped out the door, making his way to the elevators as discretely as possible. A glance at the clock radio in the room on his way out told him it was just after two am, so time was on his side. He took the elevators down to the parking garage, finding his car and sliding into the driver's seat. Shaking his head to clear his vision one last time, Dave put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking garage, tires squealing.

He didn't know who the man who had bested him was. He didn't even hope to meet him again. This wasn't a fucking epic novel or video game. All Dave knew was that if he ever met that slender, skilled and admittedly sexy man again, he had better watch out. Because Dave may have faltered momentarily; may have run into someone who was, at that moment, better than him.

But there could only be one best. And Dave Karofsky was intent on reclaiming that title. At least, once his fucking nose healed up.

**_*hums the 007 theme song* The muse and I eagerly await your reaction to the beginning of this story. Please review if you can!_**

**_This will be a multi-chapter fic, probably around 7-8 chapters. Something to keep me warm over the winter hiatus, and maybe you too, if you want to keep reading. ;)_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks so much to everyone for your reviews and support on this story! I'm very excited about it, so I'm glad it's being warmly received. I'm hoping to build the suspense slowly, and get you guys really hooked. :) This chapter is a little short (it kills me to post under 4,000 words), but it's kind of a necessary bridge to the next one.**_

Dave looked around the room he was currently waiting for his latest client in. It looked like the many others just like it he'd been in over the years. He supposed you could call it a den, an office, or a study. It was decorated in dark, masculine colors of maroon and olive green, and the furniture, including the desk he was sitting in front of, was large and traditional. Although the walls were lined in books, and there were some expensive looking paintings on the walls, there wasn't much in the way of personal effects. No framed photos, sports memorabilia, or certificates of achievement. This was slightly unusual, in his experience; and like everything else that he observed, he took note and filed it way for possible future use.

There was the click of the door behind Dave opening, and he turned to watch a man enter the room briskly. He was tall, appearing to be in his mid-thirties. His brown hair was curly and thick with product, and he had a distinctly cleft chin. He came over and sat behind the desk, not bothering to shake hands with Dave. This, however, was not unusual. Dave knew that he was seen by most of his clients as hired help; no better than their housekeepers or landscapers. The only difference was, instead of cleaning up messes in their houses and yards, Dave cleaned up the messes in their lives. The man nodded at Dave. "Will Scheuster," he said.

"So I assumed," said Dave. "What can I do for you. Mr. Scheuster?"

"I understand through a mutual acquaintance, that you're a man who finds things," Schuester said. "Or people. And that you can...take care of things, when certain issues arise with what you find."

Dave resisted the urge to sigh. Wealthy upper-class clients like Schuester tended to talk vaguely or in euphemisms, especially at first. It took a lot longer to find out the details of the job that way, and time was money. "What do you need me to find, and who am I going to need to kill to get it?" asked Dave. At Will's surprised expression, he let the corner of his mouth curve up. "I think we both have a lot more important things to do than sit here beating around the bush. Give me all the details, and I'll let you know if I want to take the job. And how much it'll cost you." As expected, Scheuster looked affronted that Dave would even consider not taking the job. Dave doubted it had even crossed the man's mind. He liked to make it plain up front that even though he was being paid by the client, he was the one in control of the situation.

Schuester held eye contact with Dave, but finally looked away. "Fine," he said, turning back to Dave. "My father, Dennis Schuester, was an extremely wealthy man. His specialty was securities; even when the market was down, he always found a way to make money off of it. He had the touch of Midas when it came to the stock market." Schuester snorted. "Everything else he touched turned to shit, though. He was a complete and utter bastard to everyone around him. Including me. And when he died last week, it should have been the happiest day of my life. But he found a way to fuck that up for me too, which is why I need someone like you."

Dave was glad Schuester was finally getting to the point. For a minute there, he thought the man might have mistaken him for a therapist, or someone else who would be inclined to actually give a shit about his daddy issues.

"When he knew for sure he wasn't going to last much more than a day, he asked for me to come to his room," said Schuester. "He never asked for me since he became bedridden, and I sure as hell never went in there of my own accord. I probably should have at least hoped that he wanted some kind of maudlin deathbed reconciliation, but I knew better. And I was right." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes briefly. "I sat next to him, and I could almost smell him rotting away from the cancer. He told me that he knew I was glad he was dying, and I didn't even try to correct him. He said that I was a sanctimonious prick, a disappointment to him in everything, and that his biggest regret was that I was his only heir. And then he dropped the bomb on me. It was so like him, I'm shocked I didn't see it coming all along.

"And the bomb was…?" said Dave. He was starting to lose his patience.

"My father's will left everything to me," Schuester said. "I was his only son. My sister Rebecca was born with Down's Syndrome, and she lives in an institution. And despite how worthless he thought I was, I'd been running the business quite successfully in his absence. There was a stipend in there for my bitch of a stepmother, but other than that it was all to come to me, as expected. But he told me that day that there was another will, completely legal, that invalidated that one." Schuester's face hardened even more. "It left everything to my stepmother. He'd given it to someone, with instructions to come forward with it at an agreed upon date in the future."

Dave sat up a little straighter. Now they were finally getting somewhere.

"He said I'd never know when it would come," Schuster said, his words clipped and tense. "A month, a year, five years…I'd never know when the rug would be jerked out from under me. He'd be able to die knowing that I'd never have a single day where I didn't fear it would be the one when I lost everything. And knowing that, he'd be able to die happy."

"So you want me to track down the will," said Dave. He didn't phrase it as a question.

"Yes," said Schuester. "And whoever has it, I want them dead. Along with whoever witnessed it, and, if it looks like he used a lawyer, them too. I want that fucking document destroyed, and anyone who knows anything about it gone. And when that's done, I can know that that piece of shit burning in Hell will be screaming in agony, because I'll finally be happy."

"So let me make sure I have everything," said Dave coolly. "I need to find out who has the will. I need to track down the location of the person who has it. You want a minimum of three hits, since in this state you need two witnesses on a will. And you want the possibility of a fourth hit, if your father had an attorney draw it up. And I will be responsible for destroying the will as well. Sound right?"

Will nodded. "Exactly," he said. "Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it," said Dave. "And luckily for you, I want to take the job. But," he said, holding up a finger, "that's a lot of tasks, and some will be time consuming. It'll tie me up for a while, keep me from being able to take anything else for a couple of weeks." Dave paused, calculating mentally. "Five hundred thousand dollars."

"What?" yelped Schuster. "Half a million dollars?"

"If you don't like the terms, you're free to look elsewhere," said Dave calmly. "You could even try Craigslist, I suppose. But like everything else in life, Mr. Schuester, you get what you pay for. For five hundred, it'll get done right, fast and clean. I'll walk out of your life and you'll never have to worry I'll show up to blackmail you later. If you really want that happy day, I would think a man of your means would be willing to pay for it."

"Can I think about it?" asked Schuester, clearly trying to regain the upper hand.

"No," said Dave. He stifled a grin at how Schuester's eyes widened in surprise. "Once I walk out of here, you and your problems cease to exist for me. I don't wait around for clients, Mr. Schester. I'm far too busy for that sort of nonsense."

"Fine," said Schester tightly. "Consider yourself hired."

Dave reached into his pocket, pulling out a card. "I'll need the first half wired to this account immediately," he said. "I'll expect it in there no later than two pm. If it's not there, I'll assume you changed your mind, and move on to the next client."

Schuester took the card from him. "That won't be a problem," he said. "How do I get in touch with you, for updates on your progress?"

"You don't," said Dave. "I'll call you to tell you when everything is done, and I'll expect the balance to be wired to the same account within an hour. And please don't get any ideas about stiffing me on the second two-fifty. Not unless you want to be too dead to enjoy your happy day." Schuster blanched, and Dave stood, knowing he'd made his point. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Schuester. I'll see myself out."

Unbeknownst to Dave, across town a similar meeting was taking place.

Kurt rang the doorbell of the penthouse apartment. It was answered by a beautiful blond woman, dressed in low slung khaki capris and a black cropped tank top. "Hi," she said brightly, taking Kurt aback a bit. He wasn't that used to such an enthusiastic welcome. "I'm Brittany. San said to bring you into the living room. C'mon. Can I get you a drink? Or something to eat?"

Kurt stared at her. "No," he said. He wondered if she was mentally defective. Didn't she know what he was there for? "I'm fine."

"Cool," she said, leading Kurt to the sunken living room. She gestured to the cream colored couch. "Have a seat. I'll get Santana for you."

Kurt sat on the leather couch as instructed, crossing his right leg on top of his left and taking note of his surroundings. The apartment was tastefully finished in neutral colors and silver accents. There was a large fireplace, and a glass wall that provided a spectacular view. A few framed photos adorned the mantle and side tables, of either the woman who has answered the door, or an equally beautiful Hispanic woman about the same age. Interestingly, there we no photos of them together. Kurt heard a rustling, and the Latina woman walked into the room, wearing a grey robe. She glided across the room to sit in a matching leather chair across from Kurt. Brittany followed her, coming to stand behind the chair. She laid one soft, white hand on the shoulder of the other woman.

"Santana Scheuster," the woman said, in a throaty voice. At Kurt's nod, she continued. "You come very highly recommended, Mr. Hummel."

"I should hope so," replied Kurt. "What can I do for you, Ms. Schuester?"

"I need you to find something, and bring it back to me," Santana said.

"Could you be more specific?" asked Kurt.

"I was married to a very rich man, Mr. Hummel," Santana said. "A man who lived to control other people. One who thinks he's found a way to control me from the grave, though he's wrong about that."

"Tell me all about it," said Kurt, smiling slightly. Unlike many men in his trade, Kurt had no problem with clients rambling on before revealing exactly what he was being hired for. He had the acting skills to convince anyone that he was sincerely interested in whatever had brought them to the point of hiring someone like him. As far as Kurt was concerned, the more information he got from a client, the better he could do the job, and move on to the next. Sometimes they blathered out things that they didn't even realize were important, that even _Kurt_ wouldn't realize was important at the time. But he stored away every piece of information, because you never knew what knowledge might come in handy, no matter how insignificant it seemed at the time.

"I met my husband four years ago, at the place I was working," said Santana. "The Fox Hole." At Kurt's raised eyebrow, she gave a little laugh, but it was forced and bitter. "It was a strip club, as you've probably guessed, and just as sleazy as the name makes it sound. All the girls were turning tricks on the side, me included. The lap dance room was basically a whorehouse more than anything else. Orgy room if we happened to get a bachelor party in." Santana brought her hand up to meet Brittany's on her shoulder, and Kurt's eyes followed the movement. "I know what you're thinking. Lesbian, right? What would I be doing making a living stripping for and fucking men? But it was good money, and it sure as shit beat the hell out of making minimum wage at McDonalds." He voice got louder, defensive.

Kurt waved his hand a little, as to indicate he wasn't judging her. Santana relaxed a bit.

"Dennis wasn't exactly the type of customer we normally got in the club," she continued. "Showed up with a driver and shit." Her voice lost it's clipped, polite tone; becoming rougher and with a slight accent that hadn't been there before. It was like talking about the past took her back to the woman she used to be back then. "But he liked it dirty and nasty. That was his kink. And I could get my freak on like no one else there. It didn't take long before he was asking for me specifically, each time he came in. I did anything he wanted, and he tipped fantastically. Then he decided he wanted me all to himself, got this weird obsession with wanting to _save_ me."

"So he offered to marry you?" asked Kurt.

"It was so fucking weird, you know?" Santana said. "He said he wanted more than just to set me up as his mistress, or whatever. He wanted to make me over, so he could take me out in front of his fancy friends and laugh over the fact that they couldn't tell I was a filthy whore. He said it would make his son fucking crazy, and boy, did it ever. I thought he was nuts, to be perfectly honest. But the chance to get out of The Fox Hole, out of my crappy apartment and live large for once in my life? You bet I took him up on it. There was a prenup, of course, completely in his favor. If I left, I got nothing, not a dime. But he was already in his seventies; so I figured, how long could it take until I was free, and with an inheritance that would set me up for life?"

"And that's not what happened?" asked Kurt.

"Actually, that's exactly what happened." said Santana. "I was married to that bastard for three and a half years, and until he got sick, he made sure each of them were a living hell for me. He'd had me watched, and knew when I wasn't working that I played for the other team exclusively. He liked to slap me around in bed, scratch and bite sometimes too. Not where anyone could see proof, of course. But yeah, he'd do that, and then he'd rough-fuck me. He'd tell me that he wouldn't stop until I said that I liked cock, that I loved it and would never want pussy again. That his big dick made me a real woman, finally. He took Viagra, more than he was supposed to most of the time, and he could go as long as he wanted. 'Till I was completely dry and sore, and then I'd finally give in and say it." She paused, as if checking on Kurt's reaction to her story.

Kurt let his eyes and mouth soften, and gave just the slightest tilt of his head. His expression was exactly as he wanted it, one of someone hard and jaded feeling sympathy for another against his will. It was a very effective technique, far more so than anything less subtle.

Santana, satisfied with what she saw, continued. "That was the worst part, but there were others. He'd lend me out to other men for sex occasionally. Every few months, I'd find that every stitch of clothes in my closet had been thrown away. He'd let me buy more, of course, but it was his way of letting me know that nothing really belonged to me. And he made sure that I was never, ever allowed to spend time with women, unless it was at a mixed party, and even then I had to be with him every minute. My hairdresser, my massage therapist…fuck, even my gynocologist had to be a guy. It wasn't even because he thought I would cheat. He just didn't want me to be able to enjoy any kind of personal connection or communication with another woman, because even that might give me some comfort, or happiness. He lived to make everyone around him miserable. It was like food and water to him." Brittany's other hand came to Santana's hair, and began to stroke it comfortingly. Santana closed her eyes briefly. "I thought it would all be worth it," she said, opening them. "But I'm not sure it was."

Kurt shifted in his chair. "I could certainly understand if you wanted to hire me to kill him," he said, shooting her a calculated look that clearly communicated _and the bastard would totally deserve it_. "But as you said, he's dead. And he left you the money he promised. So I'm still not sure why you'd need my services."

"When he was finally so sick that he had to be in bed all the time, he made me stay with him," said Santana. "There was a security guard outside the door with specific orders that I was only allowed to leave to go to the bathroom, and even then, I was escorted. I ate my meals in there, slept on a cot. Occasionally he'd want to meet with someone privately, and I'd have to wait in the hall. One night, his son Will came, and he told me to leave. When Will left, he looked like he wanted to beat the ever living shit out of me, but he walked off. I went back into the room, and Dennis was laughing like a fucking loon. He told me that he'd made a new will, and stashed it away with someone. It was a will that left everything to me, and he was going to make sure that its existence hung over his son's head for the rest of his life He'd told Will that it was supposed to be made public at some point in the future, but in reality, there were no plans for that at all. It was just to fuck with his head."

Kurt got it immediately. "You want me to find the will, then," he said.

"Yes," said Santana. "And I don't know who he's got it stashed with, but knowing Dennis, it's not someone who will give it up easily. You'll have to take care of them, too."

"Not a problem," said Kurt. He thought for a moment. "Two hundred and fifty thousand should do it. Although if it gets any more complicated that that…if other things need to be dealt with, I may need to adjust my rate." He smiled charmingly.

Santana stood, walking over to Kurt. She smiled back at him. "Mr. Hummel, as a former working girl, I can assure you that I understand the concept of paying well for a need that not many people can satisfy. Besides, if you can do this, I'll be able to wipe my ass for the rest of my life with hundred dollar bills. Two-fifty it is, and if that needs to go up, so be it. Freedom doesn't come cheap." She looked back at Brittany, then to Kurt again. "As soon as Dennis was gone, I got the hell out of that prison and drove right to The Fox Hole. I didn't even know if Britt was still working there or not, but I hoped. She was, I took her out of there, and neither one of us have looked back." Her voice grew slightly hoarse. "I know I said a few minutes ago that it might not have been worth it. But I don't think I really meant that. If that's what it took, all those years of pain and separation for us to be safe, and know we'll never have to go back to our old life? I'm glad I paid the price. Compared to what I paid for that, anything else is a bargain."

"It appears we have an agreement then," said Kurt. "If you have a pen and some paper, I'll write down where you can wire the money to. It's all upfront, but in the completely unprecedented case that I don't succeed, it will all come back to you. But in all, the years I've been doing this, I've never had to make a single refund. You can count on me, Ms. Schuester." He gave Santana a mildly earnest look, as if she'd cracked his cold exterior with her hard-luck tale. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth. Kurt had heard worse; most importantly, he'd lived worse. But there was nothing wrong with using one's finely tuned acting skills to have a client gratefully hand over a quarter of a million dollars, instead of sputtering and attempting to dicker like a used car salesman. Clean and neat, just the way he liked it.

Brittany obligingly brought over a pad of pink post-it notes, and Kurt wrote down his offshore bank account number in his usual precise handwriting. He peeled the note off, handing in to Santana. "I'll let you know as soon as I have the will, and all the loose ends have been tied up," he said. "This is a standard assignment for me, and I expect it will go smoothly."

Bidding goodbye to Santana and Brittany, he left the apartment. He had no idea that, for the first time in seven years, he was completely wrong on that score.

_**I know, I know, Kurt and Dave weren't even in the same room in this chapter. Just know it was necessary to the plot and the progression, and they will be meeting again in chapter 3. I PROMISE. In fact, it should be the only chapter in the whole story where they're not together in some way. The more you review, I think the faster it might come. ;)**_

_**BTW, please note that I know many strip clubs aren't as skeezy as The Fox Hole, and most strippers never turn a trick in their lives. I purposely made that part extra sleezy and awful for plot reasons, so no hate in reviews/PM's, okay? At least not about that. XD**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I am so very sorry this chapter took so long to write. The holidays, work, and some other RL crap have put me far behind schedule. Hopefully you didn't forget or lose interest, and still want to read about what comes next.**_

_**And of course, thank you again for all the wonderful reviews! I really appreciate that so many of you take the time to write them.**_

_**BTW, in the last chapter I forgot to throw in a shoutout to raven1215/partypants42, who thought of the perfect name for Santana's previous place of employment. Thanks so much, darling!**_

Dave pulled into the packed dirt parking lot, the blinking neon lights reflecting off of the shiny hood of his rental car. The building in front of him was a large house, possibly a duplex originally, that had been converted into a place of business. Muffled music emanated from the dingy, paint-peeled structure; the blinking signs for _Girls! Girls! Girls!_, _Totally Nude_ and _ATM Inside_ were the only color or brightness about the place.

He had decided, as he so often did, to start at the beginning. So a trip to The Fox Hole, where Santana and Dennis Schuester had met, was definitely in order. The strip club was isolated, located quite a bit outside the city limits. Dressed in jeans and a black sleeveless shirt, two days worth of stubble decorating his strong jaw, Dave knew he'd be able to blend in easily with the primarily blue-collar clientele of the club. He exited the car and made his way into The Fox Hole. There was no bouncer or cover charge, so he grabbed a table near the stage and signaled the waitress over. He ordered a Budwiser, and allowed his hand to wander over the waitresses' mini-skirted ass. Obviously used to the attention, she threw him a flirtatious smile before leaving to get his drink.

Dave turned his attention to the stage. A young woman with shoulder length light brown hair walked teasingly around the silver pole, naked except for a tiny black thong. As the chorus to Garbage's _#1 Crush_ played, she lifted a leg and wound it around the pole, then bent backwards so the ends of her hair brushed the floor. Dave reached for his wallet, folding a few dollar bills and tossing them on stage. She immediately straightened up, sank to the floor, and began to crawl on her hands and knees over to the money and Dave. Stopping in front of him, she rose to her knees, legs spread, and began to toy with the strings holding her thong together. Her movements were sensual and playful, but her eyes were blank; even if Dave had been into women, he supposed it might have dampened his enthusiasm somewhat. He pasted a wide grin on his face, reaching into his wallet for more bills. He held them out to her, just out of reach. Dave nodded at the hands near her hips, and she quickly tugged at the ties. The thong fell away, revealing a neatly shaved triangle of pubic hair. Dave motioned her closer, and when she obliged, he handed over the three fives he was holding. The stripper drew them down her body, caressing her breasts with them, nipples hardening. Dave made as if to reach for them, but she pulled back and shook her head slightly, shifting her gaze behind his head. He turned around to see a pink neon sign with the words "VIP Room" at the back of the club. Turning back, he saw that the woman had returned to the pole. She slid up and down it a few times, as the music began to fade. She threw Dave one last sultry look, bringing the tip of her tongue to her top lip and letting it linger there, before walking off the stage.

Dave's waitress returned, setting his beer down with a thunk. He paid her, adding on a decent but not extravagant tip. When she started to walk away, though, he grabbed her hip lightly. She looked back, the smile on her face this time less flirty and more nervous. "Something else you need, honey?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Dave, with a douchey leer. "That girl, the one who was just dancing?"

"Sugar?" said the waitress.

"Yeah, Sugar," said Dave. "Any chance I can get a little one-on-one time with her?"

"Up to her," said the waitress, looking relieved. "But she doesn't exactly play hard to get, if you know what I mean. I can let her know that you're asking about her."

"Appreciate it," said Dave, finally taking a sip of his beer. The waitress slipped away, but was back quickly.

"She'll see you in the back," she said, nodding at the back of the room. Dave took another drink of his beer, then set it back on the table, abandoning it. He wound his way between the half filled tables, where the patrons ranged from a table full of rowdy college-aged students, to older men who seemed as jaded and apathetic to their surroundings as the employees. The VIP room, when he got to it, was almost exactly what he had expected. There was a dingy looking couch in a small alcove, and to the left of it, a short hallway with four closed doors marked _Private_. Deep moans and high-pitched, entirely fake sounding cries came from behind one of them. On one wall was a vending machine with assorted condoms, lubricants, and herbal supplements. The Fox Hole definitely was living up to its less than classy reputation, which was fine with Dave. He was hardly here for sex, and he didn't like surprises under any circumstances.

Sugar walked into the room, and Dave immediately wiped the cold, detached look from his face. He smirked, blatantly ogling the woman as she stood in front of him. She was wearing a tiny purple pleather mini-skirt, a black mesh top that showed the hot pink bra worn beneath it, and ridiculously high silver platform heels. Dave licked his lips, letting his eyes heat up with feigned desire. He reached for the woman, but she stepped back.

"It's twenty if I keep everything on," Sugar said, in the mechanical voice of someone who'd recited the same spiel hundreds, maybe thousands of times. "Thirty if I lose just the top, or the panties. Fifty, and it all comes off." Her smile was hard and brittle.

Dave shifted, as if he suddenly found sitting to be slightly uncomfortable. "You offering anything else?" he asked, low and rough.

Sugar looked him over carefully. Probably trying to suss out if Dave was a vice cop or something. Seemingly satisfied, she laughed and walked forward. "I'll blow you for eighty. For a hundred, I'll let you fuck my sweet, tight pussy." She paused. "Whatcha want tonight, cowboy?"

Dave reached for his wallet and opened it, frowning slightly to give the impression he was worried he might not have the money. He thumbed through the bills and smiled, pulling out four twenties, a ten and two fives. He held them out with one hand, reaching under Sugar's skirt with the other. Dave caressed the silky crotch of her panties. "This," he said, pushing upwards with his fingers and pressing hard on Sugar's clit.

"Oh, yeah baby," gasped Sugar, making the hooker he'd first heard sound like an Academy Award winning actress in comparison. He snorted mentally as Sugar snatched the cash out of his hand and stuffed it into her bra. She took his hand, tugging him off the couch. Dave's hand fell from under her skirt as he rose. "Let's get some privacy. Sugar's gonna give you just what you want," she said.

_You certainly will_, thought Dave. _Not the way you think, but I'll definitely get what I came for. As usual. _ He allowed himself to be led inside one of the closed doors.

The room was about as large as a good-sized department store dressing room. There was a rather dirty looking cot against one wall, and on the other, a small stand with two drawers and a CD player on top. Sugar pushed him lightly, signaling him to sit on the cot. "Get comfortable, baby," she said, moving towards the stand. "We'll have so much fun. You're gonna love it." She fiddled with the CD player as Dave shifted back onto the cot, settling his back against the wall. Rihanna's _Rude Boy_ played tinnily out of the speakers, and Sugar opened one of the drawers, pulling out a square packet. Dave saw her take the cash out of her top and stash it in the drawer, before turning around to face him.

"C'mere," said Dave, motioning with his head. "I'm lonely over here, all by myself."

Sugar walked slowly over to him, with what obviously passed for a wanton look for her. She stopped in front of him. "Can't have that," she said. She stroked his stubble with a delicate hand, and Dave turned his head to briefly mouth the palm. Sugar took her hand away, bringing it and the other to the hem of her mesh top. She peeled it off, tossed it over her shoulder, then climbed up onto Dave's lap, straddling him. "This better?" she asked, rolling her hips and stroking her hands over his powerful biceps.

"Fuck, yeah," said Dave, easily channeling his inner Neanderthal. He thrust upwards with his own hips, and when Sugar predictably closed her eyes and threw her head back, he made his move. Reaching into the back of his jean's waistband, he pulled out his gun and pushed the barrel into her sternum, directly above the soft mounds of her breasts. The pressure of cold metal instantly got Sugar's attention. She snapped her head back up and looked down, eyes going wide and frightened. Before she could even open her mouth to scream, Dave slapped the hand not holding the gun over the lower half of her face, halting any possible noise.

"Shut the fuck up," ordered Dave. "I'll take you out so fast, you'll be dead before you hit the floor. Do you understand me?"

Sugar nodded, her eyes growing damp.

"I'm going to take my hand away," Dave said. "You make a single fucking noise before I give you the okay, it'll be the last thing you ever do." He removed his hand, pleased to see the woman stayed silent. "That's it," Dave said. "Good girl. Tell me what you know about a woman named Santana, who worked here a few years ago."

Sugar swallowed. "I just started working here last year," she said shakily.

"So you've never even heard the name?" asked Dave, in a dangerously quiet voice. "Haven't heard a single thing about her?" He gave a little push with the gun against Sugar's breastbone, staring coldly into her eyes. "Let me ask you something. Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?"

Sugar shook her head. "No."

"Then tell me what you've heard or know," Dave said, slowly and clearly, "before I lose my patience and blow a hole in your goddamn chest."

"She used to work here, but married some old rich dude, I guess," said Sugar quickly. "I'd heard talk, sure. S'not the sort of thing that happens much. About three weeks ago, this chick comes running into the dressing room, looking for Britt. They start hugging and crying and shit, then leave. We haven't seen Brittany since. But I heard her call the chick 'Santana'."

Dave stared at Sugar; he could tell she was telling the truth, but could equally sense she was holding something back. "There's something else you're not telling me," he informed her.

Sugar's eyes widened, and she looked down at the gun still held to her chest. "We're…we're not supposed to talk about it," she said.

"Oh, I think you can tell me," said Dave. "Let's just say it would be in your best interest, if you want to keep breathing." He adjusted his grip on the gun slightly.

"Okay okay okay!" said Sugar, panicked. "The old guy, the one she married? He still came in here. Not as much as when she worked here, but like, once a month or so."

"Really," said Dave. That was some very interesting information.

"Yeah," said Sugar. "I was with him a couple of times myself. He'd spend a while in Rick's office, then come out and pick a girl or two to come back here with. I got him a couple of times myself. He could get rough, and he must have been hitting the blue pills pretty hard, 'cause he could go forever. But he tipped really good, so whatever. Then he just stopped coming, period, like four months ago."

"What did he look like the last couple of times he came in?" asked Dave. "Any different than before?"

Sugar squinted. "Now that you mention it," she said, "he looked kinda sick. Not that he was much to look at before, but he was paler, I guess, and skinnier. And I think he might have lost some hair."

So Schuester had been visibly ill the last time he'd been in here. Had probably even known or suspected that he was terminal. It gave Dave an idea. "You said he would see the manager before doing his thing?" asked Dave. "Did he do that the last time he came in?"

"I don't know," said Sugar. "But he did it every other time I saw him here, so I don't see why not."

"Okay," said Dave. He was feeling positive; it was very early on in the job, and he already had a legitimate suspect for the person holding the will. A strip club manager was often the type to keep quiet about the things that went on with his customers, was used to making money under the table, and tough enough to protect the will with violence if necessary. "You did good," he said to Sugar, taking the gun away. "Get off my lap."

Sugar scrambled to her feet, visibly still wary and frightened. "Can I go now?" she said, eyes darting to the door.

"Not yet," said Dave, standing. He tucked the gun back into his pants. "First, you and I have some business to take care of." He reached into his wallet and pulled out two hundred dollar bills, holding them up.

Sugar looked at him in complete disbelief. "What…what do you want me to do?" she asked.

"I want you to take me to Rick's office," he said. "You're going to pretend like nothing is wrong. You're not going to tell anyone about me, about anything that happened here tonight. Ever. It's three times what you'd get for opening your legs, so I expect you to be very convincing and discreet. Think you can handle that?" Sugar nodded, and Dave handed over the cash. "Good. Because I don't like wasting my money. In fact, if I were to find that someone took my money, and then did the opposite of what they were paid to do? I don't think they'd be around for long after I found out about it. And I _would_ find out. You believe that?"

"Yes," said Sugar forcefully. "I believe it. I'll do just what you want, I swear."

"Then we have an understanding," said Dave. "Take me to your boss. Now."

While Dave was being lead to the club's office by a smiling, serene looking Sugar, outside the walls a figure in black crept towards The Fox Hole. Kurt was practically invisible against the darkness, dressed as he was in a tight-fitting turtleneck and jeans. The paleness of his hands and face were covered by black leather gloves and a knit ski mask. Unseen, he made his way to the bulkhead doors at the back of the building, marveling again at the stupidity of the owner for leaving them unsecured. This was Kurt's second trip to the club; the first had been early in the morning when the building was deserted, in order to scope out the layout well in advance. Kurt easily slipped through the basement, despite the near total darkness. There was no need for him to even risk using a flashlight. He could see any obstacles noted earlier in his mind as clearly as if all the lights were on, and he wove around them deftly. It was true that when you got to the top of the basement stairs, one was faced with a locked door. But there was no security system, just a regular deadbolt so easily picked, it took Kurt seconds unlock it and quietly open the door.

Kurt had been brought to the club by the same suspicion that Dave had recently had, that Rick "The Stick" Nelson (so named because he laid claim to a nine and three-quarters inch penis; a claim that seemed rather unsubstantiated according to Kurt's research) might have Dennis Schuester's will in his possession. Posing as a tabloid reporter, Kurt had questioned Schuester's driver after handing over a wad of cash for incentive. The driver had revealed to him about the elderly man's continued trips to his wife's former place of employment, right up until he was put on permanent bed rest. The last two or three visits, Schuester had ordered the driver to come in with him. His condition was deteriorating, and he wanted there to be someone handy in case he collapsed; someone who could get him to a more neutral location before calling 911. It was one thing for his image, to have gone to the club as a single man, and to have rescued once of the exotic dancers there from a life of sin. But entirely another, if it were to come out that he still patronized the establishment on a regular basis, despite his beautiful wife waiting at home. In any case, the driver reported that his boss spent time in the manager's office each time, before coming out and making his selection for that evening. Kurt pegged Nelson as exactly the type for Schuester's need, and planned to test the theory tonight.

The basement door opened up into Nelson's office. There was a large file cabinet, though, which was perfectly situated for hiding behind until the right moment. He'd expected to find Nelson sitting at his desk, but as soon as he entered the room, he heard a man's voice, and the familiar soft thump of a fist striking flesh.

"Tell me where it is. I'm not going to tell you I'll let you live, but I can stop making it extra painful along the way. Do yourself a favor."

The voice sounded familiar to Kurt. He carefully peered around the side of the cabinet, instantly realizing why. Currently in the midst of beating the absolute shit out of a red-haired man on the floor, was the guy from the Ryerson job. It had been eight months since Kurt had left him in the hotel room with Ryerson's body, but he never forgot a face. Particularly one that belonged to someone who had, at least initially, put Kurt at an extremely rare disadvantage. Kurt studied his opponent, objectively but appreciatively taking in how his bare, massive bicep flexed as he grabbed Nelson by the hair and drove his knee into his face.

"Fuck you," mumbled Nelson, spitting a glob of blood onto the floor.

The big man sighed. "Okay," he said. "The extra painful way. Don't mind if I do." He delivered a vicious kick to Nelsons torso, following it up with three more in quick succession. Kurt heard the snapping of at least one rib. He grabbed Nelson's shoulder, flinging him helplessly onto his back. With an icy smile, the man stomped on Nelson's hand with his large foot, grinding down on it ceaselessly. Kurt watched, impressed with the sharply controlled violence. The force used was just short of that which could potentially cause Nelson to lose consciousness. As he'd surmised from their previous encounter, this guy was good, maybe one of the best in the business. _A challenge_, Kurt thought, with a small smile. It was rare for him to encounter many difficulties on a job, or run into any surprises. He planned ahead much too well for that. But while such was excellent for Kurt's health, and his bottom line, it did get a bit boring.

He observed the developing sheen of sweat on the man's face and shoulders, remembering the slick feel of his skin from their fight in to hotel room. Kurt admitted to himself later that there was something about the man that attracted him, enough that he'd given into a rare moment of self-indulgence, touching that damp skin and almost playfully biting his ear. It wasn't anything that he'd ever allow to distract him; but as long as it didn't result in unwanted vulnerability, he saw no harm in giving into it. Like now. He was obviously undetected, and in no hurry to interrupt the man from taking care of the beating that he'd fully expected to have to deliver himself. So he allowed himself to linger on the sight of stubble along the man's jaw, wondering how it would feel to brush his own soft palm against it.

His musings disappeared instantly, though, as soon as he heard Nelson yell, "Okay, okay!" It had a wet, burbling quality to it; Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if he'd lost a couple of teeth by this point.

"Now you're being smart," said the man. "Where is it?"

"Under the desk," said Nelson.

Dave grabbed Nelson by the hair again, dragging him along while he kicked the desk chair out of the way and ducked to look under the desk. A small, dirty rug came flying out. "So it is," said the man, approvingly. He got back out from under the desk, smiling coolly at Nelson. "Your cooperation is greatly appreciated," he said. Unceremoniously, he slammed the other man's head into the side of the desk, then dropped his unconscious body to the floor. Flexing his fingers, he returned underneath the desk and remained there for a few minutes.

Kurt took one last opportunity to treat himself, checking out the pleasing way the man's jeans outlined his muscular buttocks when his ass was tipped upwards like so. He let out a silent sigh, and pulled his Glock .22 out of the black pancake holster strapped to his side. He saw the man start to slide back out from under the desk, and stepped out from behind the file cabinet, holding the gun out with a steady hand. It was satisfying, to see the man's eyes widen with surprise as he sat back on his heels, a manila envelope held in his hand.

"Other hand where I can see it," said Kurt, intentionally deepening his voice. The man complied. "Excellent. I must say, it's rather interesting, us meeting this way again. Except this time, you got to do all the hard work for me. Even cracking the safe under there. I like that much better." He saw the man squint in confusion, and in a swift move, yanked the ski mask off his head. It was risky to lose sight of the man for even a moment, but it was worth it to see him try to hide his reaction to Kurt's identity. Kurt was sure the man, like him, was rarely surprised by anything on a job, and it was flattering to his ego to know that he'd done it more than once now.

Dave couldn't believe it. It was the same man who had killed Ryerson, and made off with the drugs and cash that Dave had been hired to obtain. It wasn't like he never ran across certain other mercenaries from time to time. With such a small pool of people who were considered the best at what they did, it was inevitable. But to have almost the same scenario, with the same person, in less than a year? It was very unusual, and had a sense of predetermination to it that was very unsettling for Dave. He didn't believe in fate, or karma, or any of that woo-woo bullshit; so the fact that it was hard to shake the feeling was disturbing. He held his mask, though, not letting any of this on to the man holding the gun. "So," said Dave, in an off-handed manner. "You going to give me a name this time? Since we seem to be running into each other repeatedly. Might come in handy."

"If what's in that envelope is what I'm looking for," said Kurt, "we most definitely won't be meeting again. You'll be far too dead for that. But there's no reason you can't know the name of the person who ended you. Seems only fair, in fact." He paused. "Kurt."

"Kurt," repeated Dave. The name was hard and clipped sounding, straightforward even. He doubted it was the man's real name, but it suited him nonetheless.

"You're not going to be rude now, are you?" asked Kurt. He made a tsking noise. "After how forthright I've been? Come now, quid pro quo. Who do I have the pleasure of besting once again?"

"Dave," Dave responded.

Kurt laughed lightly. "Such a solid, manly name," he said. "I approve."

"I can't tell you how happy that makes me," said Dave, completely deadpan.

Kurt snorted. "I can tell how much my approval moves you," he said dryly, smirking. As fun as this all was, it was best to finally get down to business. "Open the envelope, Dave," he ordered, tightening his grip on the gun. "Show me what's inside it."

Dave thought about rushing Kurt, but knowing how fast he was and judging the distance, knew he'd get nothing but a bullet for his trouble. To hand the will over to him, though, Kurt would have to come closer, and Dave could risk jumping him. He'd relieve him of his weapon, pinning the smaller man with his bulk. He'd take out his own gun, and gladly show Kurt what it was like Dave was on top of him holding a gun, rather than the other way around. He remembered how Kurt had teased him, sweeping touches and lithe hips thrusting against him. He'd complete the turning of tables, ending with his victory this time. He'd have to kill Kurt, of course, since he knew about the will and his orders were to eliminate anyone who did. But at least he'd have the chance to see what if felt like to press down on that slender frame, maybe rock his hips a time or two before pulling the trigger.

Kurt frowned. "I'm getting impatient," he said tightly. Giving your opponent time to think too much could be a very dangerous thing. "Open the fucking envelope."

Dave reached in, pulling out the contents. But instead of a paper document, he withdrew a handful of glossy photos. He held them out to Kurt, who stayed put. "There's nothing else in the envelope?" said Kurt. Dave obligingly held it upside down and shook it, showing Kurt that it was empty. "And nothing else in the safe?" he asked.

"There's some cash, and a small gun," Dave replied. "But that was the only thing that looked like it might have what I was looking for in it."

"Then I guess that goes the same for me," said Kurt. "But those photos aren't it. You?"

"Nope," said Dave. "I was looking for a document. A will, to be precise."

"What a coincidence," replied Kurt, tilting his head. "So am I. Would it happen to be the will of a man whose wife used to work the pole out there?"

"As as a matter of fact, yes," said Dave. "Looks like we've been hired for the same job again."

"An interesting coincidence," said Kurt, although he didn't really believe in coincidences. But unlike Dave, he did believe in fate, in the universe somehow directing things. "This leaves me with a fascinating dilemma, Dave. I could kill you right now, taking you out of the picture and guaranteeing that you won't find the will before me."

"Or?" said Dave, raising an eyebrow. He was surprised Kurt was considering anything else.

"Or I could let you go, since you've been so helpful this time around. Who knows, it could happen again. You coming in handy, that is." He brought the gun down, though Dave noted he made no move to re-holster it. "I've been doing this for a long time, and it's beginning to become almost tedious. Knowing you're out there, looking for the same thing? Kind of adds a little spice to the mission. A challenge. It's been far too long since I've had one, and since I'm confident I'll come out on top, I think I'll indulge myself." Kurt smiled, a glint coming to his blue eyes that wasn't hard to interpret.

Dave could feel a heat building between them. It was like the brief connection he'd felt in Austin, but stronger. "Anything else you might want to indulge yourself in?" asked Dave, noting how Kurt's eyes subtly shifted to his chest for a moment.

"Oh, all kinds of things," said Kurt, reclaiming eye contact. "But for now, I'll leave it at that. You can get up now, by the way. Slowly."

Dave rose to his feet. He looked at the photos in his hand, having almost forgotten about them. "I'll put these back," he said, glancing at them. "Not like they'll do either of us any goo-" He broke off, staring at the photos.

"What is it?" asked Kurt, wary. If this was a trick, he'd have to kill Dave after all. It would be disappointingly necessary.

"This look like anyone you recognize?" he said, holding out one of the pictures. Keeping a tight grip on his Glock, Kurt drew closer and reached out, plucking it out of Dave's hand. He looked down, paying attention to his peripheral vision for any sudden movement.

The photo was of a man and woman, quite naked. The woman was riding the man, while he looked up at her, his face twisted in pleasure. His hand was on her breast, tweaking her nipple. Kurt looked over the thick, curly dark hair, partially slicked back; the white teeth, and the strong jaw. His eyes widened in recognition, and he looked up at Dave. "Senator Jesse St. James," he said.

"The pride and joy of the Republican party," affirmed Dave. "Young, upstanding, and completely devoted to his lovely wife and infant son." He looked down at the photos, shrugging. "Apparently when he's not beating the political drum for the conservatives, he likes to fuck hookers at a skanky strip club in the middle of nowhere, too. Wherever does he find the time?"

Kurt looked down at the still unconscious form of the club manager. "You think Nelson was blackmailing him?" he said.

"Either that, or planning to, from the look of it," said Dave. "It's interesting information, but I'm going to put these back. Unless you have any objections?"

"Be my guest," said Kurt. He had no interest in getting involved with anything unrelated to his current job.

Dave got back down on his knees and ducked under the desk, presumably putting the photos back in the safe and securing it. He got back up, wincing. He sucked in a breath, his hand going to rub his right knee. Dave looked up at Kurt, the corner of his lips curving ruefully. "I guess I've been spending too much time on my knees tonight," he said.

"That can happen, from what I've heard," said Kurt. He licked his lips, eyes heating. "Luckily, I have excellent knee strength. I could probably spend all kinds of time down on them, if it became necessary.

"I'll bet," said Dave. Without warning, he lunged at Kurt, securing the wrist holding the gun, and using his weight and momentum to slam him up against the wall behind the desk. Kurt's eyes narrowed, but he made no attempt to struggle or escape. Dave pressed his pelvis against Kurt's, staring into his eyes; their mouths so close they were breathing in each other's breaths.

"You going to kill me now?" ask Kurt, as if he really didn't care what the answer was.

"No," said Dave. "You're not the only one who occasionally indulges themselves." Taking Kurt's other wrist in his hand and pressing both against the wall painfully hard, he sealed his lips over Kurt's.

At first they both kept their eyes open, neither one trusting the other enough to close them. But the kiss got rougher, hotter, and they both gave in with quiet groans. Teeth nipped and bit, lips suckled and tongues tangled wetly. Unheard of for either of them on a job, they both lost track of where they were, the world narrowed down to nothing but the feel of their mouths against each other, and their bodies grinding each other into hardness. But after several minutes, the sound of a breaking glass from behind the office door caused the both to freeze, bringing them back to reality with a jerk. Their lips tore away from each other, greenish-gold eyes staring into blue-green ones; their chests heaving with panting breaths.

Dave stepped away from Kurt, releasing his wrists and holding his own hands out where Kurt could see them. Kurt stayed smashed up against the wall briefly, before peeling himself off. He could still feel the residual heat of Dave's body. His wrists were sore, and his cock was still rigid and stiff. Ignoring the slight tremble in his hands – Kurt had the steadiest hands of any mercenary, and they did _not_ shake from anything, thank you very much – he re-holstered his gun quickly. He threw back his shoulders, feeling his confident demeanor return. And if it felt more like a façade than anything else at the moment, it really made no difference. "Until next time," he said, eyes lingering on Dave's swollen lips.

Dave resisted the urge to adjust his jeans, his own erection making them uncomfortably tight in the crotch. "Until then," he said, the taste of Kurt in his mouth strong, but not wanting to show its effect. He folded his arms, looking pointedly at the door to the basement. Kurt gave a short nod, then slipped through the door as silently as he had come through it.

Dave turned to look at the bloody heap of Nelson's form still completely out on the floor. There didn't seem to be much point in killing him, since he obviously didn't have the will. And he was hardly the type to go to the cops over getting beat up in his office. Based on the man's facial bone structure, it looked liked getting the shit kicked out of him might be a regular occurrence. Stepping around Nelson's unmoving body, Dave walked through the office door, securing it closed behind him. He saw Sugar waiting at the bar, catching her eye and holding it with a warning glance. She smiled broadly, blowing him a kiss, and Dave was confident she'd be keeping up her end of the deal.

He got into his car and pulled away from The Fox Hole, thinking about Kurt's last words to him. _Until next time. _"Looking forward to it, Kurt," Dave said, smiling as he thought about how much he really did.

_**I know that for many of us, it's New Year's Eve, and you may have plans tonight. But hopefully when the revelry dies down, you'll take a chance to read and review. I'm anxious as always to know what you all think about this story so far, and if you're enjoying the building tension between our two mercenary boys. :)**_

_**Hopefully, with the holidays being over, I can get back to a more regular posting schedule! It'll be my New Year's resolution, how does that sound? I hope you all have a happy, safe and successful 2012!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Happy 2012, everyone! I hope it is treating you all well. :) **_

_**Thank you as always for the wonderful reviews! This chapter is a bit of a game changer, and I hope you enjoy where the muse and I are going with this one. Also, it became unexpectedly smutty at the beginning, but somehow I don't think I'll get too many complaints about that, LOL. :D**_

There was a large flat screen TV in the room Dave used as a makeshift gym, though it stayed off more often than not when he was lifting weights. The physical exertion made his mind even more sharp and clear, so he often used the time to go over finer points of his current job. He chose the pair of 25 pound dumbbells and started his first set of bicep curls, staring straight ahead but not really seeing the blank screen of the TV.

He mentally went through the most likely suspects for the keeper of Schuester's will, which he'd been compiling since the Nelson thing hadn't panned out the night before last. There were a few that looked good, but he figured his next destination would be Azimio Adams, a former college football player turned security detail. He'd worked for Schuester for two years before leaving to start his own security company the previous year. This had happened not only with his former employer's blessing, but Schuester had in fact invested in Adam's fledgling business. It wasn't a huge operation, but Dave was familiar with them, and they had an excellent reputation. Dave had completed a hit on a man protected by the company a few months ago, and it took much longer than usual to gain access to the target than usual. And once he did, the man guarding him didn't go down easy. _Adams is definitely a contender_, Dave thought, as a trickle of sweat ran from his temple down the side of his face.

He finished his third set of curls, then dropped the dumbbells on the rubber-coated flooring. Grabbing a small towel, he swiped at his face and neck, blotting the perspiration away. Dave caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror, primarily installed to check the precision of his form when lifting. His body was big, muscular and strong; it was as much a weapon as any gun in his arsenal, and he kept it just as finely tuned. Some men would have had a moment of vanity, seeing themselves as Dave did in that moment. His grey tank top was wet with sweat; sticking to the planes of his chest and torso, the deep cut neck revealing slick, dark chest hair. His calves and thighs were equally downy, disappearing into jersey shorts that clung to his toned ass. But Dave saw his body as a machine, something purely functional. He could use the fact that women and men appreciated the aesthetic beauty of his build in his work from time to time, and that had come in handy. But on a personal level, he never concerned himself with his overall level of attractiveness. When he needed sex, he paid for it, and even the most high-end of rent boys made their living by not having standards that needed to be met prior to putting out.

But he was distracted momentarily by the memory of warm, pale fingers caressing and petting him in an Austin hotel room. By aquamarine eyes taking measure of his physique, the hot slide of a limber tongue, and a stiff, needy prick sawing against his own in a sleazy strip club. Kurt was attracted to him, Dave knew. There was no reason for him to fake it, not that Dave wouldn't have been able to pick up on the artifice a mile away if he had. He knew that Kurt felt the same kind of desire that Dave felt for him, though he wondered why that pleased him so much. He thought of how Kurt had stared at his lips after their kiss, like he couldn't tear his gaze away, and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch up involuntarily. But when he saw the beginnings of the smile in the mirror, it disappeared quickly from his face. Whatever was going on, he needed to focus. Not stand there like some smitten teenager, grinning like an idiot.

Dave walked out of the room to shower, his usual routine after lifting. He turned the spray to blistering hot, shucking off his sweaty garments and tossing them to the floor. He stepped into the shower, feeling the steam and water seep into his sore muscles, tipping his head back to wet his hair. Reaching for the bottle of blue shower gel on the shelf behind him, Dave pumped a generous handful and worked it into his hair. The lather dripped down onto his shoulders and chest, and he added more gel, working it over his furred chest and armpits to wash all traces of perspiration away.

He began to consider where Adams would have the will. His bet was on an a small apartment that Adams kept in the city, presumably for nights when he worked late and couldn't manage the commute back to his house. At least, that was likely what Adams told his wife. Dave had found no evidence so far that the man used the apartment for hooking up in, but it was a safe suspicion based on his experience. The security would be tight, considering Adams's occupation; he'd have to do some serious research and recon before attempting to actually gain access. He couldn't take too much time, though. Time was money, and every day he worked this job was a day when he didn't collect the second half of his payment, and move on to the next one. _And Kurt's out there investigating too_, he thought. _Can't have him beating you there, because you know he's smart enough to already know about Adams too._ He'd discovered fairly easily that his rival went by the name of Kurt Hummel, and that he had built a reputation within the last five years as one of the best mercenaries available for hire. He pictured Kurt standing above the man's body, holding the will in his hands and gloating about having bested Dave once again. That satisfied smirk, the light of triumph in his pretty eyes. He waited for irritation, even anger to build at the thought, but was surprised to find there was none. But as he ran his hand down his solid stomach and into his groin to cleanse himself, he encountered an unexpected firmness. Looking down, Dave saw that his cock was half-filled. He drew his soapy fingers along the top of the shaft, almost detachedly watching it swell and fatten further.

Dave wasn't a stranger to jerking off; the isolated nature of his lifestyle certainly made that predictable. But it was like taking care of any of his physical needs. Like the need to eat, or sleep, or even relieve himself. There was pleasure, of course, but he never drew masturbation out much, or reveled extensively in the act. He never bothered fantasizing during it, or even watched porn at the same time. His body was as trained in sexual release as it was in everything else, doing Dave's bidding without any unnecessary effort. But as he took himself in hand this time and closed his eyes, he could see nothing but silky white skin, soft brown hair, and a taut slim body so very unlike his own.

His slick palm worked his cock firmly, fingertips catching on the tip at the bottom of the downstroke, squeezing briefly before sliding back up. In his mind, the wet pressure on the head became Kurt's pink and talented tongue, swirling over the spongy flesh. _I have excellent knee strength_, his memory helpfully supplied. _I could probably spend all kinds of time down on them. _ When Kurt had said those words two nights ago, they'd been heated for sure. But there was also a sort of control to them, the cadence telling Dave that Kurt's flirtatiousness was somewhat calculated, in no small part. But Dave's mind turned them softer, more breathless. Continued them far past where Kurt had left off.

"_I could spend all night on my knees for you," Kurt said. He flickered the tip of his tongue on that sensitive spot where the head and shaft met, then stiffened it and drew the point over Dave's slit. "You've given me a lot to work with", he said with a playful wink. Dave started to smile, but it turned into a groan as Kurt opened his mouth and engulfed his prick, lips sliding up the stiff length until they were buried in his thick pubic hair. Kurt began to bob forward and back on Dave's cock, making enjoyable little __**mmf **__noises occasionally. Dave threaded his fingers through Kurt's hair, gripping firmly but not yanking. Kurt's lush mouth was stretched wide around his circumference, his eyes huge and pupils blown out until there was just a thin ring of iris around them. One of Kurt's hands crept around to his ass, pulling Dave towards him and encouraging him to thrust. Dave complied, pushing his hips forward every time Kurt's hot mouth sucked him in. He began to feel the twitch in his thighs, the tightening of his balls as his orgasm approached. He pulled Kurt off of him roughly by the hair, keeping hold but grabbing his pulsing dick with the other. Kurt looked confused at first, but caught on quickly with a small smile and knowing eyes. He opened his mouth wide, sticking out his tongue so the back laid flat against his lower lip and chin. Dave tilted his head back with a jerk as he felt his seed rise up, and Kurt closed his eyes just in time to receive the thick, warm spurts of come all over his face. Dave could see his throat work as he swallowed what had landed in his mouth, bringing his tongue back up to sweep around and gather all that he could reach with its impressive length._

With a quiet grunt that belied the intensity of his orgasm, Dave came furiously, semen dripping over his hand and onto the shower floor. He kept stroking until he was completely spent and soft, still picturing those delicate features decorated with his come. He finally let his hand fall away, Kurt's face fading, replaced by the dark green tiled walls of his shower. Exhaling, Dave turned to face the shower spray, rinsing off both the results of his release and the remaining soap. He watched as they pooled and then slid down the drain, thinking about what he'd just done. It had made jerking off different than usual, thinking about Kurt as he did it. He'd come harder and stronger than in recent memory, and it brought something more than just physical release into it. Like there was more of a meaning to it than just the equivalent of eating breakfast, or taking a much needed piss. His mind tried to suggest words like _intimacy_ and _connection_, and he snorted. One had to be quite the loner, to feel a sense of intimacy just because you were able to picture some guy whose name you maybe actually knew while you jacked off in the shower. Rolling his eyes, he shut the water off. It wasn't like it was something he intended to do again. It was unnecessary, and apparently caused him to be distracted well past the moment of orgasm, which was unacceptable.

After drying off, Dave walked naked into his dark bedroom, going over to the sleek dresser opposite the door. He fished a pair of black boxer briefs out of the top drawer and slipped them on. He thought about doing a bit more work before retiring; but the combination of rigorous weight training, the steamy shower, and his powerful climax had him turning towards the bed instead. Getting in between the cool, slate gray bedding, he pulled the top sheet to hip level. Dave slung one arm up over his head and the other across his waist, and having attained his usual comfortable sleep position, felt his mind and body relax as he drifted off to sleep.

He didn't think he could have been asleep for long, when he heard it. A slight shuffling noise, _in his fucking bedroom_. Within seconds, he was reaching for the gun he kept on the side table. Before he could grasp it, though, something hard and cold crashed into the side of his head. He fell to the side, and before he could get back up, the room was flooded with light. Wincing, Dave righted himself and opened his eyes to see a tall, slim Asian man holding a gun on him. _What the fuck?_ Dave thought. This was not good. He'd been in this particular apartment for over two years, and it had never been breached before.

The man picked up Dave's gun from the table and pushed it into the back of his pants. "Where are they?" he asked.

"Where are who?" said Dave, honestly having no idea what the man wanted.

"Not _who_, asshole," the man replied tersely. "_What_. The pictures. Where are they?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about," said Dave, angrily. "What pictures?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Karofsky," the man said. "The photos you liberated from a certain strip club two nights ago. Where are they?"

_Two nights ago…_"The ones of Jesse St. James?" Dave said, finally getting the picture. "Fuck if I know. Last I saw, they were in a floor safe under Rick Nelson's desk."

"Really," said the man. He didn't phrase it as a question. "That's funny, because I can assure you, they're no longer there. We know you were there, that you were in locked his office for quite some time."

"Did Nelson tell you I took them?" Dave said. "Because if he did, he wasted your time and your client's money. If I were you guys, I'd be pissed about that."

"It would be hard for a dead man to tell us much of anything," the man said.

"Nelson's dead?" said Dave. He knew it wasn't him. No way had he beaten Nelson to death; while he was certainly capable of such, he was much too experienced and precise in his violence to kill someone accidentally.

"Your clueless act's not bad, Karofsky," the man said. "Too bad I don't buy it. You killed him, you took the pictures. I'm not sure if someone hired you to do it, or if you're planning on using them to blackmail the Senator yourself. It makes no difference, in any case." He shrugged. "Now stop stalling and tell me where they are. The only person wasting my time is you. And you're right, it's pissing me off."

"I told you, I don't fucking have them," said Dave. As soon as the words left his mouth, though, he thought of who might. "That little piece of _shit_," said Dave, outraged.

"Who?" asked the man, tightening his grip on the gun.

"Kurt fucking Hummel," Dave spat. "He was there too. Looking for the same thing I was, which was definitely not pictures. I watched him leave, then I left. Nelson was alive. But he must have come back, finished Nelson off, and taken the photos. Sneaky motherfucker."

"I see," said the man. "Well, if that's the case, my colleague will have more luck getting them back than me tonight."

Dave frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We were aware of Hummel's presence there as well," the man said. "In fact, we even postulated that the two of you might have been…collaborating. That's why my client hired a two man operation, so that you could both be dealt with simultaneously. I imagine my partner's taken care of him by now, and has the photos. If in fact you're telling the truth and don't have them yourself."

"I am, and I don't," said Dave. "So why don't you fuck off out of here, because you're not going to find anything." Dave was furious. He'd have to find a new place now, which would be a pain in the ass. Kurt had apparently decided to indulge in a little personal blackmail, and Dave found himself somehow disappointed by that. He'd thought that Kurt was a worthy rival, with the highest level of professionalism like himself. But instead, he was just another greedy bottom-feeder, and had somehow managed to drag Dave down into the muck with him. He wasn't distressed in the least that Kurt could be dead right now; if he was upset about anything, it was that he wouldn't have a chance to kill him personally for making Dave deal with this bullshit.

The man laughed. "You think I'm going to just take your word for it and leave?" he asked, disbelievingly. "You must take me for an amateur or something. Hardly." He drew a little closer to the bed, lining up the sight of the gun directly between Dave's eyebrows. "You saw the pictures, which is more than enough reason to follow through with the hit. Also, I can look around a lot more thoroughly, once you're dead. Until my colleague informs me that he has the photos, I'm going with the theory that there's just as likely a chance that they're here somewhere."

Dave readied himself, knowing his only chance was to roll quickly off the bed as soon as he saw the guy start to pull the trigger. It would be a question of who was faster; no more, no less. He tensed his body, knowing the moment was imminent, when a gunshot rang out, and the right side of the man's head blew outward in a clump of brain tissue and spray of blood. His body fell to the floor with a thump, and Dave immediately looked behind where he'd been standing. Dave wasn't the gasping type, but he couldn't keep from sucking in a breath at who was standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Good evening, Dave," Kurt said, calmly. "Pleasure to see you again."

Dave looked down at the foot of his bed, then back up to Kurt. It took a lot to surprise Dave, but it was something Kurt seemed to excel particularly at. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Weirdly, it appears that I'm saving your ass," said Kurt. "Kind of the opposite of what I intended when I headed over here, but there you go."

"What?" asked Dave.

"I came here to kill you," said Kurt, still holding his gun at the ready. He looked down at where the Asian man's body presumably lay on the floor. "Like you, I had an unexpected visitor this evening. He seemed to think that I'd killed Nelson, and taken those pictures of St. James. Of course, I knew I hadn't, but he seemed rather convinced. So the only logical conclusion was that you'd done it. He was kind of a chatty guy, and let it slip that his partner was over here taking care of things on this end. Once I got the better of him, it wasn't that hard to pry your address out of him." At Dave's surprised look, Kurt smirked. "As you should know from what you saw that night in Austin, a knife to one's balls is a fairly effective motivator. I think he'd have sung it, if I'd ordered him to. But there was no need. Once he coughed up your location, I severed his femoral artery, and watched him bleed out. Sadly, on my hand-knotted Aubusson rug." Kurt's shoulders rose and fell on a sigh.

"You still think I have them?" asked Dave. He didn't know how much Kurt had heard of his discussion with the intruder, or how much of it he believed. "The photos?"

"I'd hate to think that," said Kurt. "I thought you were like me. Focused. Professional. Not the type to be distracted from the task at hand for something as mundane as blackmail." His mouth thinned into a straight line.

"I don't have them," said Dave. "You can try to kill me, or not. But it won't change the fact that you won't find a single one of those pictures here." Dave pushed the sheet off himself and stood, hands up and approaching Kurt cautiously. "We could go around like this all night, both of us thinking the other one might have them. But if both of us are telling the truth, we're wasting our time."

Kurt's eyes crawled all over Dave's body, clad only in the tight boxer-briefs. "And a better use of our time?" he asked tartly, finally holstering his gun.

"Maybe getting the hell out of here, before the next person who wants to kill us arrives," said Dave. "It's a safe bet that St. James ordered the hits personally, and considering what he has to lose if those pictures come out, he won't give up trying to get rid of us anytime soon. We're both damn good, but each of our residences was breached. He's obviously hiring the best people he can find, and with his pedigree, he can well afford it. I don't know about you, but I'm going underground until I can figure out how to eliminate this problem. Maybe even figure out who offed Nelson and took the photos after we cut loose from The Fox Hole."

"Sounds more like _our_ problem," muttered Kurt.

"What are you saying?" asked Dave, frowning. "You want us to work together on this?"

"Look," said Kurt. "Under normal circumstances, I'd consider the idea laughable. I'm not exactly known for playing well with others. But you're fucking good, I'm fucking good, and if we temporarily join forces we can take care of this in a few days, tops." He smirked. "I'd like to get back to kicking your ass at finding Schuester's will."

Dave scoffed. "You mean you want to get back to trying to catch up with me," he said, an unwilling tinge of amusement coloring the words. "I don't blame you. I'm sure you've got quite a ways to go."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, big guy," he said. "We'll see who gets there first in the end." He nodded his head briefly, coming to a decision. "What do you say? Want to take care of this annoying little political issue together?"

It took Dave a moment to realize he was actually considering it. He didn't work with a partner, not ever. At least not since…he shook the thought off. But the logical part of him knew Kurt was right. The combination of their brains, strength and expertise would prove an extremely difficult - if not impossible - force to overcome. Though wary, his instincts were telling him that it could potentially be the most expedient way of dealing with the problem at hand. He rubbed his chin briefly. "Fine. We'll team up for now, so we can both get back to business. I have a safe house we can go to. I haven't used it in years, and my ownership of the property is buried so deep, it would take weeks for anyone to dig up a connection."

"Excellent," said Kurt. He raised an eyebrow. "You're a little underdressed. Not that I mind the view at all, you understand. But we should move quickly."

"Of course," agreed Dave. He took a few steps back towards the dresser, still not completely comfortable with turning his back on Kurt. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a dark green tee out of the drawers and began pulling them on.

Kurt folded his arms and shifted his weight to his right foot, watching Dave dress. He felt a tug of disappointment as all that firm, hairy skin was covered up. It was a real pleasure to look at. If they were going into hiding together, though, he'd probably get a chance to see it again. He hoped so, since he really liked to watch.

Dave walked around to the other side of the bed, scooping his gun off the bedside table. "Shall we?" he said, gesturing towards the door.

"Where are we heading?" asked Kurt, as they made their way to the front door.

"Probably the last place anyone would think to look for someone like you or I," answered Dave. "A small, blue collar town in Ohio. Lima, to be exact. Population just under forty thousand."

"Small enough to be off the radar," said Kurt. "But big enough that a couple of new temporary residents will go completely unnoticed."

"Exactly," said Dave, opening the door.

"Sounds perfect," said Kurt. "Lead the way, Dave. I'm not much of a follower, normally. But from time to time, I can be flexible if the circumstances warrant it."

"Good to know," murmured Dave, walking through the doorway with Kurt right behind. Without looking back, he closed the door of his former apartment, venturing forth into uncharted territory.

_**I'm trying to keep these guys as realistic as I can, but in the end it's a romance so I've got to give them some vulnerability and degree of trust, at least with each other. Trying to straddle the line between gritty, sexy and emotional is going to be an interesting task, and I hope I'm doing an okay job so far. As always, thoughts and feedback are welcomed with open arms and an open mind. **_

_**By the way, I've joined Max's MDA Los Angeles walk team, and will be meeting the man himself in about three weeks. This is thanks in no small part to my homegirl LizzyPoodle, who is feeding me and putting me up in her digs the weekend of February 4**__**th**__**. I don't want to pimp too much, but since it's a good cause, I'll put it out there. If anyone's interested in sponsoring my walk in some small way, drop me a PM and I'll forward you a link to the donation page. **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**I hope you all enjoyed the twist in the last chapter. Yes, our boys are going into hiding together, in closer quarters than ever before. In this installment, you'll start to get a little more insight into what's going on in Dave's and Kurt's heads, and most of their backstory. Not much smut in this chapter, but I promise a payoff on that front soon. :)**_

The headlights splashed over the large roadside sign as the non-descript tan sedan passed it. _Welcome to Lima - Home of the Lima Army Tank Plant_. Kurt raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. A town where that was the most notable thing you could mention was exactly the sort of place that was made for lying low in. He sat in the passenger seat of the car, sharp eyes taking in as much of his surroundings as was visible in the darkness. Dave guided the car through the outskirts of town, and into a decently sized downtown area. There were several of what appeared to be locally owned small businesses; a coffee shop here, a pizza place there. Being as it was close to one-thirty am, the buildings and streets were dark and deserted. They drove past downtown and into a more residential area, probably the better side of town based on the neat houses with well-kept lawns. Dave kept going west on Route 81, passing the high school, and about ten minutes later, a building with the only sign of activity they'd seen since entering Lima. It was a smallish place, with a neon sign that identified its name as _Scandals_. As they passed, the front door opened, and two young men stumbled out, laughing and holding each other up.

They finally came to another residential area, very different than the one they had gone through closer to town. The area was primarily made up of run-down looking apartment buildings and duplex houses. It was unlikely that any of these lawns had seen a sprinkler in the recent past, and many had toys and bikes that had seen better days littering them. Kurt could tell why Dave had chosen the neighborhood; the majority of rental-type housing meant a transient community, and the disrepair pointed to residents who were unlikely to pay too much attention to the comings and goings of their neighbors. Dave drove to the very end of the street, coming to a dead end, and pulled up to a duplex with peeling gray paint that might have once been some shade of white. There was a faint glow of light at one of the windows, as if whoever lived there had left a nightlight on, in case they had to get up in the middle of the night. Dave drove around to the back of the building, where a shoddy garage suddenly appeared in the glare of the headlights. He shifted the car into park and got out silently, heading to a barely illuminated area about ten feet from the garage. Kurt watched as Dave picked up a rock without hesitation, taking something out from beneath it. Obviously a key, since moments later the rickety double garage doors hung open, revealing an entirely empty interior. Dave returned to the car, still saying nothing; he executed a swift three-point turn and backed the sedan into the structure.

Finally he turned to Kurt and spoke. "Benvenuti a casa mia," he said, the lyrical Italian rolling off his tongue, as his lips quirked with sarcasm.

Kurt snorted. "More like, benvenuti a _tugurio_," he replied.

"I'm sure it's not up to your usual standards, but we'll have to make do," Dave said, dryly. He killed the engine. "Let's go."

Kurt and Dave exited the car, Kurt grabbing a large black duffel bag from the backseat. He drew out and flicked on a flashlight as small and slender as a pen, while Dave re-locked the garage. Dave put the key back under the same rock, then picked up another one a few feet away, drawing out another key. They made their way to the back door of the house, the narrow beam from the flashlight preceding them. Dave unlocked the door, and the two of them slipped inside.

The back door opened up into the house's kitchen. The light that Kurt had noticed from outside turned out to be the bulb inside the oven hood, which cast the room around them into shadows. Dave reached over to the wall, and with a clicking noise, the kitchen was fully lit. Kurt was surprised. "Sure you should be doing that?" he asked.

"Not that anyone around here gives a shit, but even if they did, this wouldn't be unusual," Dave said. "I've got almost every light in the place rigged up. Some of them turn off and on at regular times, other ones randomly. There's a local handyman who comes once a month to change the light bulbs. He also runs water during cold spells so the pipes don't burst, shovels snow and mows the lawn infrequently in the summer. Enough of an appearance to give the impression that he lives here, or is taking care of someone who does."

Kurt nodded. "You can show me the layout tomorrow," said Kurt. "And we can decide how best to set up shop. You wouldn't happen to have any food around, would you? It's been almost a full day since I've eaten, and I'm starting to feel the effects." He looked Dave up and down. "Unlike you, we don't all have an enticing extra layer to live off of." There was no malice in his tone, just a touch of halfhearted teasing.

Dave smirked. "I guess we can't have you wilting like some delicate flower," he tossed back.

Kurt's eyes narrowed for a moment. He held up his hand, extending his long middle finger. "You're hilarious," he deadpanned. "If the bottom ever falls out of the mercenary market, you could make a fortune in the comedy clubs, I'm sure."

"Likewise," replied Dave, going over to the cupboards. "I've got some canned goods for now. Tomorrow I'll run out the store and pick up some provisions for a couple of days." He grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup out of one, turning and throwing it forcefully towards Kurt's face.

As have expected, the hunger didn't seem to be affecting Kurt's reflexes or sense of self-preservation much. Without even the barest flinch, his hand flew up, effortlessly catching the projectile. He turned the front of the can towards himself nonchalantly. "Looks good," he said.

"Sure does," agreed Dave, his voice deepening. The way Kurt had his head tilted showed off his elegant neck, and the clean line of his jaw in a very distracting way.

Kurt looked up, a sly expression coming across his face that Dave was starting to find oddly familiar. Kurt rose out of the chair and came to stand in front of Dave, so close they could feel the heat of each other's skin in the chilly kitchen. "So," Kurt said, "You want some of this?" Both his voice and expression made it clear he was talking about more than just soup.

Dave considered. It wasn't like it hadn't crossed his mind, that going underground with Kurt might result in sex. They were on the same side, at least temporarily, and there was obvious physical desire on both of their parts. It wasn't like Dave ever attached any meaning to sex; the only difference between fucking Kurt and fucking a prostitute would be the lack of a cash exchange. Maybe a little more sexually satisfying than usual, given that there was such a buildup of tension between them. But still, a fuck was a fuck, even with someone as interesting and alluring as Kurt Hummel.

Kurt liked hearing Dave's breath quicken slightly, seeing his pupils enlarge with desire and his hand twitch just the tiniest bit. He enjoyed turning men on, making them want the sleek perfection of his body. It made him feel in control, and control was the most import aspect of Kurt's life. It amused him to know that his lithe limbs or graceful features could make strong, smart, capable men like Dave weak. But unlike with other men, teasing Dave resulted in an answering flare of desire in Kurt. It was a shimmery feeling, like a harp string being plucked, and it was outside of Kurt's normal experience entirely. He liked that feeling. Almost as much as he liked making Dave want him.

Dave was struck again by that certain something in Kurt's demeanor when they were like this. He could tell Kurt wanted him, but there was still something...artificial about it. Something that Dave couldn't quite put his finger on. It was a sense that having sex with Kurt was more about him gaining the upper hand, rather than Kurt giving into his lust. Despite their current collaborative efforts, there was still an underlying power struggle between them. One that Dave wasn't willing to give an inch on, no matter how much he wanted to feel the tight heat of Kurt's ass on his cock. So he stepped back, breaking the connection.

"I think I'll pass for now," Dave said, trying not to grin at Kurt's surprise. "I've had enough to get me through for a while. I can wait until I'm able to get a hold of something more appetizing."

There was a flicker of anger in Kurt's eyes, but just as quickly as it was there, it disappeared. Kurt shrugged off-handedly. "Suit yourself," he said, slipping by Dave and heading over to the stove. "I bet it's going to be tasty. You don't know what you're missing."

Dave went to one of the lower cupboards and got out a small saucepan. He held it out to Kurt, smiling broadly. "I'll take my chances," he said, catching the brief press of Kurt's lips as he scored the point. "At least for now."

Kurt snatched the pan out of Dave's hand, setting on the stove with a care that made Dave think it was taking some effort for him not to slam it down. The can had a pull tab, and Kurt peeled the lid off before dumping the contents into the pan.

"I'm going to turn the heat up," said Dave, deciding he should leave while he was still ahead. He went into the living room, flicking on a small table lamp, then turned the heat up to a comfortable seventy degrees. The living room looked the same as it did the last time he'd used the safehouse. Although he could have easily furnished it as comfortably as his apartment, he needed the place to look like it belonged in this neighborhood on the inside as well as the outside. Howard, the handyman he'd hired, probably already thought it a little strange how well he was paid for the little he did, and the fact that his pay was deposited directly into his account by the anonymous-sounding "Sawhorse Industries" instead of receiving a check. He didn't need the added attention of having high-quality leather furniture, or a flat screen TV. So instead Dave furnished the place from Goodwill; complete with the lumpiest, ugliest couch could get his hands on, and a fifteen inch tube television. It was a dump, frankly, but since Dave only spent a few days out of the year here, it hardly mattered. Besides, he hadn't grown up in much better, so even though he'd moved past that, it wasn't foreign to him.

He looked around a bit, making sure that everything was exactly as he had left it. All of the weapons he'd stashed were in place, and he clicked on the TV, making sure the cable was still up and running. He and Kurt had bought a new, spotlessly clean laptop and a router, which they'd hook up tomorrow. Dave would need to heavily secure the network, setting up his own custom-designed firewall and other software downloaded from cloud storage. Kurt had his own programs as well, a couple of which Dave agreed to try out in lieu of his own.

Dave went back into the kitchen, where Kurt was sitting at the cheap formica dinette set, spooning soup into his mouth. Dave slung himself into the chair opposite him. "Better?" he said.

Kurt wondered if Dave meant his hunger, or his mood. He almost felt embarrassed, letting Dave's rejection get to him to the point where it was visible. "Of course," he said coolly, straightening up as he finished his late dinner. "So how did you find this place?" asked Kurt, attempting polite conversation for some reason.

"I grew up here," said Dave. "Not this house, but a few streets over in one of the apartment buildings."

Kurt looked shocked, then pissed. "What?" he said, sharply. "You said your ownership of this place was buried deep. How the fuck can that be, when you used to live here? That's a pretty goddamn obvious connection, Dave. A three year old who's seen Blue's Clues more than once could probably suss it out."

"Calm down, Hummel," Dave said. "Dave Karofsky never lived here. My real identity? It might as well be locked in a fireproof safe at the center of the Earth. No one's ever discovered it, and I've taken every precaution to make sure they never will."

"But what about the people here?" asked Kurt, completely baffled. "You said you were going to the store tomorrow. Wouldn't someone possibly recognize you? It's not the smallest town, but it's no New York or LA, either."

"No one here ever saw me," said Dave. Kurt stared at him wordlessly, nonplussed, so he continued. "My dad was in the business. But in a much less…sophisticated way, you might say. He was your typical babbo. Roughed people up who owed small time bookies, did some quick and dirty B and E, couriered coke and heroin, that kind of thing. A real knuckle –dragger. I didn't go to school. I didn't go _anywhere_. I learned what I could from educational programming, and taught myself how to read when I was eight."

"Where was your mother?" asked Kurt.

"Hell if I know," said Dave. She was never here, and dad never talked about her. Ran off, I imagine. Can't say I blame her." He shrugged. "When I got old enough – about twelve - he started taking me on jobs with him. He was getting older, slower. The years of drinking and getting clocked in the head were making it harder for him to do jobs. So I came along. It's how I got my start."

Kurt had never really spent any length of time wondering how other people came into his line of work. He knew his own background, of course. But other people? He never really considered it. As such, he found that Dave's story captured his attention, as different as it was from his own. "What happened then?" he asked.

Dave was surprised Kurt seemed so interested, but continued. "It didn't take me long to figure out why we never had much money. Deep down, he was a chicken-shit. He'd only take the jobs with the least amount of risk. Like beating up wasted crackheads half his size," Dave said dismissively. "He'd get offered jobs to take someone out entirely, or obtain something of extremely high value that was well protected, and he'd pass on it. We couldn't even keep our utilities on reliably, but he'd turn down a job that could have paid them for a year if it was too dangerous. He was a fucking coward, but I was a mean, smart little bastard. When I was sixteen, he was offered a hit on a cop who was on the take, but not holding up his end of the deal. When Dad turned it down, I offered to take it."

"Did they take you seriously?" Kurt asked.

"Not at first," said Dave. "I mean, I barely took myself seriously. I didn't even have a gun. But I wanted to do it, wanted to prove I was so much more than my old man. They gave me half the money up front, and made sure I knew they'd be taking it out of my ass if I tried to screw them over. My dad asked me what the fuck I thought I was doing, and I just looked at him and said, 'Apparently, I'm killing a cop.' I used part of the money to go a pawn shop and get a gun, and three days later, it was done. I got the other half of the money, and that was how things started to shift. I didn't go on my dad's jobs anymore. He went on mine, because they paid better, and he knew I'd make sure we both got out alive no matter how much of a fuckup he was." He paused, snorting. "He never had a good thing to say to me before, but once the cash started rolling in, it was all about what a great _team _we were. He started drinking even more, 'cause there was money for that now, until it got to the point where I didn't want him to go with me because he was going to get me killed. So he stayed home on his lazy ass while I supported us both."

Kurt was quiet for a minute. "What happened to him?" he asked. He was positive that Dave's dad was no longer breathing, that was for sure.

"I was teaching myself all kinds of things. My skills and experience were growing every day, because it was all I ever did. All I ever thought about. I knew I could become one of the best in the business, if not _the_ best. But not if I stayed in Lima. I needed a whole new identity, a fresh start. To be able to travel wherever and whenever I wanted. But I couldn't do it with that fucker hanging around my neck like an albatross. So when I was eighteen, I invited him on a job. For old time's sake, I told him." Dave's face, already stony, went even harder, like it was hewn from rock. "He was such a moron. He showed up drunk, but this time I didn't cover him. The target got the drop on him, and I just stood back and let it happen. Then I took out the target, collected my money, and left town. From that day forward, I was Dave Karofsky."

Kurt, uncharacteristically, was at a loss for words. It wasn't like he hadn't heard of people offing their parents. He'd personally been hired to kill more than one parent by their offspring. But for some reason, Dave's recap of his career left Kurt somewhat taken aback.

"What?" said Dave, not really getting Kurt's reaction. "People with happy, supportive home lives don't get into our line of work, Kurt."

His words seemed to strike a nerve. "How the hell would you know?" asked Kurt, defensively. "You think you know why everyone becomes a mercenary? Every single one of us? It must be nice to be so omnipotent."

"Okay then," said Dave, hackles rising. "Educate me. How did _you_ get where you are today, Hummel? What was that you said back at The Fox Hole? Quid pro quo?"

Kurt's spine stiffened. His changeable eyes became dark and steely. "You don't know shit, Karofsky," he said. "I had a father, a mother, and a brother who all loved me. Who supported me every step of the way. When I was bullied, and when I came out. Every concert I sang in, every play I won a role in, they were there for me. Unconditionally."

Dave folded his arms. "Go on," he said, indifferently.

Kurt didn't know why he was telling Dave this. He didn't talk about his past life with anyone, ever. Shit, he didn't really talk about his current life either. Maybe it was because there was still a part of him that couldn't stand for someone to think negatively about his family. Maybe it was because Dave was the first person who had made Kurt feel something besides cold satisfaction in years, even if it was strictly sexual. Or maybe it was just what Dave said. _Quid pro quo_.

"We had a good family," Kurt began, slowly. "A good life. My dad was a mechanic, and mom stayed home to raise me and my brother, Finn. It wasn't easy for me growing up. I was always delicate, effeminate. Gay in a high school where no one else was out. I was bullied at worst and shunned at best by most of my classmates. But my family got me through it. No matter what happened at school, I could always go back home to them, and then everything was okay again. My senior year, I thought things were taking a turn for the better. A boy transferred to my school, who was also gay and out, and we became boyfriends. Mostly out of convenience and common interests, I think. But I was a kid, and I thought I was in love." Kurt stood up, no longer able to remain sitting. He wasn't capable of tears any more, and hadn't been in years. But he was surprised at how the back of his throat ached a little, talking about what happened. "Where are the glasses?" he asked Dave. I'd a drink of water."

"To the left of the sink," said Dave, making no other comment.

Kurt got his water, which helped that ache a little. He leaned up against the sink as he started talking again. "My head was in the clouds, and I barely noticed that things were a little different at home. How my dad was on edge a more than usual, and how my mom seemed to worry about Finn and I going out. Finn had gotten a new girlfriend around the time I started dating Blaine, so we both were out in the evenings a lot. I think he was just as clueless as I was, not that that excuses me. Finn had a heart of gold, but he wasn't very bright or observant." Kurt looked at Dave, and his cool, impassive countenance in some way made it easier to go on. "Anyway, after Blaine and I had been together for a few months, we decided it was time to lose our virginity together. "We'd messed around, handjobs and such. But we were sheltered, and figured anal was the only official way gay boys popped their cherry. I didn't have many friends, but I did have a few, mostly other theater and show choir kids. I told my parents we were having a big group sleepover at someone's house, but of course we really just went to Blaine's place and fucked. I spent the night, and drove home the next morning." And with those words, Kurt stopped talking. Just stopped, and stood there silently.

After waiting a few moments, Dave decided to say something. It wasn't like he _cared_ or anything, but Kurt owed him the whole story. "Something happened, I take it?" he said.

Kurt actually started a little, like he'd almost forgotten Dave was there. "Yeah," he said, with a slight jerk of the chin. "I went inside and found them. They were all dead, including Finn's girlfriend Rachel, who must have been over visiting when it happened. It was your typical pro group hit, not that I recognized the style at the time. They were duct taped into chairs and gagged. Each of them had been shot in the head with a small caliber weapon." Kurt's voice was steady and mechanical, like he was relaying the details of a hit he'd carried out himself.

Truthfully, Dave wasn't shocked. It seemed like everything Kurt had said leading up to this, added to his current occupation, pointed towards losing his family. "Who ordered it?" he asked. He frowned. That had come out a lot softer than he'd intended it to.

Kurt rolled his shoulders, tilting his head to stretch out his neck. "My dad was being shaken down for protection money," he said. "At first, he refused to pay it, but then he did. He was working with the cops, helping them collect evidence. Wearing a wire, that sort of shit. I don't know how they found out, but they did. And you know how it goes down after that, Dave. They took him out, along with any witnesses. Standard practice."

Dave nodded. Kurt's voice didn't tremble, nor did his hands. He didn't cry, or go weak in the knees. To the average person, he would have looked and sounded like none of this was affecting him at all. But Dave had years of experience observing people, and he could see something in Kurt's eyes that was different than before. An echo of horror, at what had been done to his family. It was still inside him, though he doubted Kurt knew it was detectable.

"I was eighteen, so I didn't have to go anywhere," Kurt said. "I got the house, dad's business, all the insurance money. Dad even had a small policy for Finn, so there was plenty of it. After a few days, I tried going back to school, and I just couldn't handle it, so I dropped out. I broke things off with Blaine, because I couldn't stand to look at him. I had time and resources, and basically no responsibilities. So I decided to pursue the only thing I had any desire to do. Find every single person involved with the hit, and make them pay. I started working out for hours every day. I took all kinds of lessons; long and short range target shooting, hand-to-hand combat, mixed martial arts…even fencing, for some reason." A tiny smile appeared and disappeared within a millisecond. "It didn't take any work to identify the people responsible. Both ones that planned it and the ones that carried it out were charged, and dad's lawyer kept me in the loop on all the legal shit. It took a year – during which every single one of them walked for lack of physical evidence – but I was finally ready."

"You took them all out?" asked Dave.

"All except the top man in the organization, who ultimately gave the green light on the hit," said Kurt. "He had a family of his own, a monumentally stupid weakness in our line of work, as you know. I killed his wife, his daughter, and his son-in-law. His daughter was six months pregnant," Kurt added idly. "I let him live long enough to find out they were dead, to experience knowing he'd caused it to happen, for a couple of weeks. Then I took care of him too, in case he was dumb enough to try and retaliate."

"Why didn't it stop there?" asked Dave. He was genuinely curious at this point. "You had your revenge. Why not try to go back to your old life?"

Kurt laughed, but it came out more bitter than the mocking he was going for. "What was I going to do, Dave?" he asked bitingly. "Go to college, meet a nice boy and settle down? After what I'd seen? After what I'd _done_?" Kurt shook his head. "There was no going back. There never was, not from the moment I chose to give it up to my boyfriend that night, instead of dying with my family like I was supposed to. I had the skills, I had the start-up cash, and most importantly, I had zero connections to anyone or anything. I openly took responsibility for the hits I'd carried out, and used them as credentials to go into the business professionally."

"Well then," said Dave. "I guess I stand corrected. Of course, when it comes right down to it, the past hardly matters."

"Damn straight," agreed Kurt, pushing off of the sink. "No point in living for anything but the here and now. It's all anyone really has, even if they try to tell themselves differently."

"Speaking of which," said Dave, "now would probably be a good time to get a few hours of sleep. We can start fresh in the morning." He got up and started for the entrance to the living room, flicking the kitchen lights off on his way.

"Sounds good to me," said Kurt, grabbing the duffle bag and following him. They went through the living room and up the stairs, where Dave stopped at the beginning of a narrow hallway.

Dave pointed to a door on the right. "That's the master bedroom. It's mine," he said. "Bathroom's at the end of the hall. You can bunk there," Dave indicated the door on the left. "There's a crappy but functional futon in it." He waited for that deliberate, flirtatious light to spark in Kurt's eyes, but it didn't happen. Kurt didn't draw closer, start spouting innuendoes, or even bluntly suggest he share the bigger and more comfortable bed with Dave.

Like Dave, Kurt had been up for nearly forty-eight hours. He was tired, and surely that was why he couldn't drum up the effort to toy with Dave at the moment. "Fine," he said. He nodded his head at the bag he was carrying. "Should I keep this, or do you want it?"

"You can keep it," said Dave. "There's a Colt .38 under the mattress, just in case. But like I said, this place is secure. We won't be having any visitors."

"Right," said Kurt, turning to open the door to his room.

"G-" started Dave, stopping just as the sound came out of his mouth.

Kurt turned back, frowning. "You say something?" he asked.

"Nope," replied Dave, turning quickly and entering the master bedroom. He certainly had not been about wish Kurt good night, like they were fucking _roomies_ or something. Jesus. He must have been more tired that he thought, for some reason. Quickly stripping down to his underwear, he climbed into the shabby looking bed. The worn flannel sheets were actually quite soft, and within moments, Dave was sound asleep.

_**Next chapter should whet your smut whistle – finally!**_

_**The reviews for the last chapter were a little lower than usual, so I hope that I haven't lost too many of you along the way. I know that kind of reveals me as a needy review whore, but if you've been reading my stuff you probably already know that, lol. :) But if you have the time and desire to leave feedback, please know that it's always read enthusiastically and so greatly appreciated. **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to get done. The week before and after going to LA for the MDA Walk (and meeting Max squeeeeeeeeee!) were just impossibly full. For those of you who didn't get the whole story on tumblr, just know that he was amazing and attentive to every single pirate who attended, and he's even more handsome in person. And then the Valentine's episode, well, it took me days to recover from that. **_

_**Thank you all so very much for responding to my creys for reviews; it was lovely to know that many of you are still engaged in the story, and like where it seems to be going. I'm especially happy that the backstories of Kurt and Dave were so well received, since it was one of the elements I've been nervous about from the beginning. To show my appreciation, I bring you more story, this time with smutty smutty smut smut. :)**_

Dave rolled over in his bed, waking quickly and immediately noting the amount of sunlight coming in through the window. Though he normally woke around six am no matter what time he fell asleep, he could tell that it was at least a couple of hours later than that. He squinted at the small digital clock on the bedside stand, reading the bright red digits with surprise. _9:08_ He and Kurt had retired to their rooms around three am, so he'd gotten a full six hours of sleep. Part of him was disappointed that he'd lost time that could have been better spent setting things up in the safehouse, but on the other hand, being well-rested would probably make him a little sharper and able to focus better.

He sat up and swung his legs off the bed, listening for any sounds of movement but hearing nothing. Dave pulled his shirt and jeans from the night before back on, then walked into the hallway. He wondered briefly if Kurt was still sleeping, but a quick look into his room proved that the other man was elsewhere. The futon was neatly made, more so than it had been before being slept in. There was no trace of Kurt's clothes or the duffle bag, so Dave gathered he'd been up for a while and gone downstairs.

Descending the stairs, the smell of coffee hit his nose about halfway down. It looked like he'd been right. He went into the kitchen to see Kurt sitting at the table again, a plain beige mug of black coffee at his side. Kurt's gun was disassembled in front of him; the lower assembly, recoil spring, slide and barrel spread out on the table top. Dave watched as Kurt picked up the slide with one pale, elegant hand and brushed it gently with a dry toothbrush held in the other. "Good morning, sunshine," he said offhandedly, not looking up from his work.

"I see you found the coffee," said Dave, moving over to the pot. He got a mug out and poured himself a cup, sipping it with a small murmur of approval. Apparently Kurt liked his coffee brewed strong to the point of near bitterness, just as he did.

"Yes, I've been up for a couple of hours," Kurt replied. He continued to brush off the Glock pieces in front of him, then traded out for a dishtowel. "I know you wanted first crack at setting up the network, so I took care of some odds and ends. I also found an unopened box of cereal, so there's that to eat if you want some. No milk, though."

"I'll make sure to pick some up when I go to the store," said Dave. It sounded so weirdly domestic that he almost laughed.

"I made a list," said Kurt, nodding at a neatly written piece of paper on the counter. Satisfied with the cleanliness of his weapon, he began to reassemble the pieces.

Dave glanced at the list, then did a double-take. Picking up the paper, he read it over. There were the expected staples like bread, milk, juice, etc. But there were also a variety of unexpected items. _One whole cut up chicken, garlic, pearl onions, dry red wine, five potatoes, gruyere cheese, butter_… "What the hell is all this shit?" asked Dave.

Calmly, Kurt finished putting his gun back together. He racked the slide firmly, pointed the gun way from Dave towards the floor, then dry fired, smiling briefly in satisfaction at the resulting click. "You may be fine with eating out of cans for a few days," he said, "but I'm not. Processed food can come in handy, don't get me wrong. But most of the time, it's an instrument of Satan. I'm going to make Coq au Vin and potatoes Dauphinoise for dinner. It'll make enough to give us leftovers for a couple of days."

"You can cook?" asked Dave, staring at Kurt.

Kurt snapped the ammo magazine back into his pistol and set it carefully on the table, checking to make sure the safety was engaged. "Certainly," he answered. "I liked to make fancy meals when I was younger, because there were few fine dining establishments where I grew up, or funds to eat at them. And even when I moved away and had the money…well, I like to keep a low profile. Regular attendance at the best restaurants would screw with that, so I make what I like to eat at home. And it definitely does _not _include Hamburger Helper."

"Fine, I'm not complaining," said Dave mildly. "I just didn't expect it. If you want to make like Julia Child while we're stuck here, be my guest."

"Good," said Kurt. "Now, how about you get started on the network? Also, I take it there's some place around here where you can grab a couple of pre-paid cell phones while you're out?" They had both left their phones behind; even as well-encrypted as they were, anything either of them could possibly be traced through needed to go. It was a giant pain in the ass starting over with new tech, but completely necessary.

"Even Lima has a Wal-Mart," said Dave. "I can get them there, no problem." He reached for the laptop and brought it to the other side of the table, powering it up.

"While you do that, I think I'll take a shower," said Kurt. He brushed at his chin. "I saw a couple of razors when I was looking for the toothbrush earlier. Mind if I use one? I'm going on my fourth day without shaving, and this is getting itchy."

Dave bit his lip to keep from snorting out a laugh. After four days, he'd have a full beard going, but Kurt only had patchy dark stubble on his chin, along his jawline, and scattered across his otherwise smooth cheeks. His mind briefly conjured up the image of that stubble being dragged roughly across his lips, but he shook it off. "Go ahead," he said, shifting focus to the now booted up laptop. Kurt moved out of the room, and Dave heard the creaking of the stairs under his feet. Dave typed away, pulling up one of his cloud storage accounts and downloading the needed files. As he installed and began to configure his firewall, he heard water begin to rush through the pipes as Kurt started his shower. Dave's fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes riveted on the laptop screen. He was intent and focused of the task at hand. He was not, in any way, allowing himself to be distracted by the thought of what Kurt looked like at that moment; water sluicing down his skin, those long fingers working soap through silky hair. Rubbing the bar of soap over every inch of his body, creating a slippery slide of hands over his cock, balls, and the crevice of that tight, firm ass. The laptop beeped, and Dave started slightly at the sound. Okay, maybe he had gotten a _little_ diverted. But it had been quite some time since Dave had gotten laid, and Kurt was exactly his type, sexually speaking. It wasn't like it was anything he couldn't control if we wanted to. He'd been through the process of setting up different machines so many times, it hardly required his full attention. It was natural that his mind might wander.

Dave was installing his custom IP cloaking software when Kurt walked back into the kitchen, wearing the same clothes as before, but with damp hair and a freshly shaved face. His feet were bare, and he looked much younger than his mid-twenties. Dave thought he might pick up another set of clothes for each of them, since they'd retreated without taking the time to pack additional garments. There was no sense in getting your body clean, only to slip into a dirty outfit. He saw that the progress bar had completed, and pushed away from the table. "I think I've got everything I need on here," he said. "Put on whatever you want of your own tools. I'm going to head out to the store. I'll check out what you've got when I get back."

Kurt looked back at Dave, the side of his mouth curling. Dave wondered if Kurt knew he'd thought about him being in the shower. If maybe Kurt had thought about Dave in the shower, maybe jerking off at the thought like he'd done himself barely a day ago. Kurt's face looked amused, but those eyes of his were hot and considering. "Of course. You can check it _all _out when you get back, Dave," he said, smirking.

Dave's irritation spiked, his skin prickling. Cocktease Kurt was back in full force, and Dave would be lying to himself if he didn't admit how badly he wanted to call the other man's bluff. He intentionally brushed past Kurt, bumping their shoulders. "Count on it," Dave said, arching an eyebrow.

A half-hour later he found himself in the Wal-Mart Supercenter. Dave picked up a couple of Samsung Galaxy smartphones in electronics first. This was followed by two pair of lounge pants and two soft tees in the men's department. He guessed Kurt's size at a medium for length, though he looked slim enough to fit into a small. He then made his way into the grocery section, gathering all of Kurt's ingredients and marveling somewhat at the fact that even the Wal-Mart in Lima carried shredded gruyere cheese these days. Not familiar with the layout of the store, he made sure he went up every aisle to ensure little to no backtracking. Which was how Dave found himself in the hygiene section, momentarily stopped short by the rack of condoms and personal lubricants. After a few brief moments of consideration, he selected a box of Trojans and a tube of Astroglide, tossing both into the cart. He still wasn't sure that fucking Kurt was an inevitability. But it was starting to feel like one, so it was best to be prepared.

Dave checked out, paying with the cash that he and Kurt had withdrawn swiftly before absconding. It didn't take him long to drive back to the safehouse, and bring his purchases inside. Kurt was still sitting at the table on the laptop, but he took a break and stretched his arms when Dave walked in. "I've got everything set on my end," he said. "Most of your stuff looked fairly good, but I think my password hacker tool is far superior. It works on an incredibly robust _algorithm_. I've already gotten started on a list of every Fox Hole employee over the last three years. Nelson didn't strike me as the strict bookkeeping type, but he must have been paranoid about being audited. He actually filed all his W-4's, like a good little taxpayer."

"Interesting," said Dave.

"Why don't you put this stuff away, and then you can look it over while I get started on the Coq au Vin," Kurt said.

"Already?" asked Dave. It was barely noon.

"Technically, the chicken should be stewed in the wine for twelve to thirteen hours," Kurt informed him loftily. "But since _someone_ needed their beauty rest, that's not going to happen. Still, six or seven hours should still produce something quite good."

"I can hardly wait," Dave said acerbically. He put the groceries away, and gently threw the still packaged cell phones onto the table next to Kurt. "I got a change of clothes for each of us." Dave held up the casual garments. I'll bring them upstairs, and I'll take a look at what you've got so far." Kurt nodded absently, eyes on the laptop screen. Dave reached into the bag, taking out the last two items, the lube and condoms. He slid them between the shirt and pants he was holding, to carry them discreetly up to his room.

He'd only gotten halfway through the living room when Kurt's voice called out to him. "Dave! Put that shit down and get in here, stat."

Dave put the clothes down on the couch. He took a minute to grab the condoms and lube, stashing them in the coffee table drawer, just in case Kurt came in. Then he walked quickly back into the kitchen. "What?" he asked, irritated.

Kurt flipped the laptop around, and Dave could see that Kurt had brought up the CNN home page. It only took a moment for him to figure out why. Emblazoned under the top banner in thick black letters were the words **JESSE ST. JAMES ANNOUNCES BID FOR REPUBLICAN PRESIDENTIAL NOMINATION**. Well, shit. "No wonder he wanted to take us out so quickly," said Dave.

Kurt's mouth was set in a firm line. "It's one thing to have something he's already attained put at risk," he said. "And there's been more than one Congressman or Senator who's been able to ride over a wave of scandal. But this? The chance to be President of the United States? Fuck. He'll stop at nothing to find us."

"We need to find the person who has the photos," said Dave. "If we can eliminate them, and deliver the pictures to St. James, it will be a show of faith. Why would we give them back if we wanted to blackmail or expose him?"

Kurt's expression was still grim, but he nodded. "We're doing everything possible anyway," he said. "This makes the stakes higher, but the process should remain the same. Changing strategy mid-stream can be a very bad move."

"I agree," said Dave.

Kurt pushed back from the table. "I'm done here for now," he said. "I'm going to change into those other clothes before I start cooking. Where did you leave them?"

"On the couch," answered Dave.

"I'll bring yours up with me, and toss them on your bed," Kurt said.

"Fine," said Dave. Apparently the lube and rubbers were staying in the coffee table drawer for now. He shrugged and sat down, looking at the information Kurt had put together so far. It was an impressive start, he had to admit.

Kurt returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, feet still bare but wearing the items Dave had purchased. They were long enough and slightly baggy, but instead of disguising it, the soft jersey fabric draped over the lines of Kurt's body in very interesting ways. Dave watched from the corner of his eye while Kurt bustled at the counter, chopping up ingredients and examining the two bottles of wine Dave had bought. He selected one, then bent over to open up the bottom cupboards, probably looking for a large pot. The fabric of Kurt's pants tightened over his ass, the seam delineating high, tight buttocks that reminded Dave of how he'd looked in those tiny shorts so many months ago. He felt a tightening in his own groin, and immediately turned all of his attention back to the computer screen.

The rest of the afternoon progressed in much the same way. Kurt and Dave worked in tandem on their research, with Kurt getting up occasionally for such tasks as stirring the chicken, or beginning to slice the potatoes thinly. The kitchen filled with a mouth-watering aroma, and the additional input kicked Dave's senses up a notch. Already used to tuning into the smallest of details, he found himself even more noting the brush of Kurt's fingers as they both reached for the touchpad; the sound of his breath in Dave's ear as he leaned over to point something out; and the sight of Kurt's hair softly resting against his scalp instead of styled stiffly with product. They discussed various scenarios, different people who may or may not have been involved with stealing the photos, and Dave found himself equally attentive to Kurt's sharp mind and quick wit. It might have been slightly embarrassing, had he not suspected that Kurt was having a similar reaction to him.

Although both men led rather isolated lives, Kurt's was a bit more extreme than Dave's. And in a way, things were more complicated for Kurt, because he remembered what it was like to spend time in a small, simple kitchen; cooking delicious food in between looking over his brother's homework, or some article in the paper his dad wanted him to see. That closeness…the intimacy, it was something that he hadn't had in years, and hadn't thought he was capable of missing. The warmth of skin close to his, and another voice responding to his ideas and thoughts. Dave turned to say something, not noticing how close Kurt's face was to his. Kurt's nose flared, and his heartbeat picked up just the tiniest bit. They stared at each other, before Kurt broke the tension. "I think dinner is probably ready," he said, turning away and heading towards the stove.

"Oh," said Dave. "Yeah, I'll…let me get all this crap off the table." He shut the laptop and stacked the legal pad and pen on top of it, then threw out the cell phone packaging and other odds and ends that littered the table. When he was done he took out a couple of plates and some silverware, and brought them over to Kurt, who spooned out chicken and potatoes.

They sat at the table, both of them feeling awkward. Neither of them had shared a home-cooked meal with another person in years (Dave almost never), and it was very strange. Dave cut into the chicken and took a bite; he was no gourmet like Kurt, but he knew delicious when he tasted it. "This is great," he said.

"Thanks," said Kurt. He hadn't been complimented on a meal since the last one he'd cooked before his family was killed, about a week before that night. He was surprised at how good it made him feel, and how familiar the feeling still was. He smiled back at Dave.

Dave felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. Kurt had this smile on his face, completely different than anything Dave had seen before. It wasn't cynical, or sarcastic, or flirtatious. It was open, warm…so fucking normal, Kurt barely even looked like the same person. It was making Dave feel something, something he'd never felt before. He dropped his eyes to his plate and began eating again. The potatoes were fantastic too, but this time he didn't comment. They finished their meal in relative silence, occasionally talking about the case, but mostly lost in their own thoughts.

Dave stood up and started to clear the table when they were done, while Kurt moved over to the counter and opened the second bottle of wine. "I don't suppose you have any wine glasses?" he asked. At the shake of Dave's head, he sighed. "I didn't think so. Regular glass it is," he said. He pulled out a glass from the cupboard, but hesitated. "Join me?" he said.

Dave looked to see if Kurt was teasing again, but he saw no sign of it, just an honest invitation. "Sure," he said. "I'll have one. I'm not really sure what more we can do tonight anyway. Usually it takes me a couple of days to get to the point where you've done everything you can virtually, but it went a lot faster with two of us."

Kurt nodded, pouring two healthy glasses of the Pinot Noir. "Our next step would definitely be to start in-person interviews and recon. But that's going to be tricky, since we need to lay low at the same time." For once, Kurt felt like he didn't even want to think about the dilemma at the moment. "In any case, I agree, we're not going to get any further tonight, and it's only seven thirty. I'm going to go watch TV, I guess. I'll put on Fox News first, see if there's any updates on St. James's campaign.

When Dave walked into the living room a little later, Kurt was flicking through the channels rapidly, obviously not finding much to watch. Dave sat on the couch as well, since it gave the best view of the television. "You mind if I put ESPN on for a few?" he said, taking a drink of his wine. Kurt rolled his eyes, but turned the remote over. Dave found the station, and was pleased to find a Bruins-Oilers hockey game that was still in its first period. He and Kurt watched the game quietly, for the most part; though every once in a while, Dave would comment idly on a play. Kurt would nod, even though Dave doubted the game held any interest for him. By the time it was over, they were both on their third glass of wine, and somewhat buzzed. It probably wasn't the best idea to let their guard down, but Dave still believed in the security of this location. And between the alcohol and lack of work, he was actually starting to relax, which was something he rarely did.

"What now?" asked Kurt, stretching back against the couch with catlike grace.

Dave was a straightforward man, as was Kurt. They were both adults, sexual beings who were obviously attracted to each other. There was no need to beat around the bush, like they were dating or something. Dave sipped his wine, then spoke. "We could always fuck," he said casually.

Kurt just sat there for a moment, blinking. Then he burst out laughing, high and light. "Jesus Christ, Karofsky," he said. "You sure do know how to woo a guy."

Dave smirked. "Sorry, I didn't think to pick up roses or chocolates at the store," he said. "I doubted you were the type to need them."

Kurt put his drink down, crawling across the couch on his knees and straddling Dave. "You've got me pegged there," he said. Kurt ground into Dave's lap and brought his lips to Dave's ear. "I'm definitely not the hearts and flowers type," he said breathily. "At least, not anymore. You think we should fuck, Dave? It would probably be hot, I agree." He reached under Dave's shirt, caressing his chest. Dave's hands went to Kurt's sides, then ran them down until he was grasping his ass. Kurt cooed appreciatively. "Are you going to slide your big cock into me? Rub your big, hairy body all over mine?"

Heat was racing through Dave's body. Usually when he had sex, he was in control the whole time, directing the whores into his desired positions and acts. But with Kurt grinding away at him, and saying beautiful filthy things, Dave felt himself becoming pliant. "Christ, yes," he gasped.

Kurt smiled devilishly, pleased with the response. Instead of responding with words, he brought his mouth to Dave's, flicking his tongue against his lips before diving in for a kiss. Much like their last one, it was hot and wet with saliva, rough and _perfect_. Dave was hard as marble beneath him, as was he. It felt incredible, so much so that he almost felt bad about what he was about to do. Almost. Kurt tore his lips away from Dave, and brought one of his palms to the side of his face almost tenderly. "You want to fuck this?" he asked, drawing the other hand down his torso seductively.

"Yes," Dave nearly growled. Would Kurt ever stop talking about it, and just let him drill his ass?

"I'm convinced that you do," said Kurt, a little breathlessly. "There's only one problem, though." He leaned in again, speaking directly into Dave's ear. "I don't fuck," he whispered. He could feel every muscle in Dave's body tense beneath him. Suddenly, the hands on his ass went to his upper arms and squeezed painfully. As expected, he was abruptly jerked backwards.

Dave glared at Kurt. "What did you say?"

Instead of being upset or fearful of Dave's anger, Kurt was smugly satisfied. He'd been much too vulnerable with Dave, too comfortable. It simply wouldn't do. It was time to put things back to where they needed to be, with Kurt perfectly in control as usual. Besides, it was only the truth. "I. Don't. Fuck," he said, enunciating every word. "Not anyone. Ever."

Dave just stared at him in disbelief. "What are you talking about?" he said. "You've been teasing me, trying to turn me on since the night we met."

"It's what I do," said Kurt, grinning evilly. "I tease. I…tempt." He started to shift against Dave's lap again, but stopped when Dave shook him roughly and shot him a warning look. "But the follow up? Not so much my area."

"Not even with hookers?" asked Dave, clearly not able to entirely grasp what Kurt was telling him.

Kurt made a face. "Uh, _no_," he said, a little distastefully.

A thought occurred to Dave, finally penetrating the haze of surprise and wine. "You mean, you haven't had sex since the night your family died?" he asked. He just caught the flicker of pain in Kurt's eyes before they went cold.

"That has nothing to do with it," he said waspishly, pulling away from Dave. "Let me go, I want to get off you." Dave took his hands away. Kurt scrambled off his lap and stood, folding his arms. "I just don't need it, that's all. If I get horny, I can jerk off. I take care of myself, in every way. I don't need another person around to get off, it's completely unnecessary."

Dave believed him, to an extent. He did buy that Kurt needed to be self-sufficient and in control. But he didn't believe for a second that what happened to Kurt's family had nothing to do with his celibacy. Dave knew what it was like to not want or need to be close to other people. But to forever deny yourself the most basic of human acts, even as a commercial exchange? Only something as fucked up as knowing everyone you loved was being terrorized and killed while you were being pounded up the ass by your boyfriend could make that sort of decision seem logical. Dave's life had been shitty, but it was more of a long, drawn out shitty, as opposed to a single traumatic incident. It had obviously screwed with Kurt's head, no matter what he claimed. He didn't want to feel bad for Kurt, didn't want any kind of closeness or connection with him. But it seemed to be happening all on its own, and after a life of never caring about anything, he had to admit to himself that he was starting to care about Kurt. "Fine," he said calmly. "We don't fuck. It's no big deal anyway, it was just an idea for a way to pass the time." He shrugged and settled back against the couch.

"Good," said Kurt shortly, continuing to stand. He wished he hadn't already taken a shower, as that would have been a good excuse to leave the room. Not that he needed a reason, but he certainly wasn't going to do anything to indicate that this exchange had rattled him.

"Any ideas about what we _should_ do?" asked Dave.

Kurt thought about it. He could still feel energy zinging through him, the residual of his excitement from taunting Dave, and his buzz seemed to be making it worse instead of dulling it. He felt like working some of it off. "We could spar," he said. "Wouldn't want to get rusty while we're holed up here. We could move some furniture out of the way."

"Sure," said Dave, standing up. Anything was better than sitting around and trying to ignore the discomfort that had just leapt up between them. He started dragging the couch out of the way, while Kurt did the same with the coffee table and chair. Soon a good-sized area was cleared, and Kurt and Dave met in the middle of it.

They both stood there quietly, sizing each other up. Dave moved first, throwing a punch towards Kurt's face. Kurt dodged it easily, then struck out with his own arm. Dave blocked it, and their sparring began in earnest. They were both careful to use less force than if they were actually fighting; the point was to see how many hits and kicks they could land or block, not to do and actual damage. They might each have some bruises the next day, but no major damage would be done. They both began to perspire as they battled for the upper hand, which was elusive. Either due to their marginally slowed reactions from the wine they'd consumed, or the fact that it was a simple competition and not a life-or-death situation, they were more equally matched in combat than before. They traveled across the living room, sounds of their flesh smacking against each other, their heavy breathing, and the occasional grunt of effort or pain the only noises in the house. After quite some time, Kurt decided to see if he could at least get Dave on the ground, so he forcefully jammed his foot into the back of Dave's knee. Unsteadier than usual, Dave lost his balance and started to fall. At the last second, though, he twisted around and yanked Kurt in front of him. They crashed to the floor with a thump, Dave landing on top of Kurt heavily.

Kurt tried to bring his hands to Dave's shoulders to push him off, but Dave grabbed them and pinned his wrists to the floor. Bucking Dave off of him, considering the difference in their weights, was not going to work, so Kurt tried to work his legs free. Doing so, however, brought their hips into rough, grinding contact, and within moments they were both hard again. Subtly at first, their movements changed, even though they were no less aggressive. The thrusting transformed, with the intent of pleasure, not victory, and they both lost themselves in the moment. They stared into each other's eyes, gasping harshly, and Dave crushed their mouths together in a rough kiss. He broke the kiss eventually, dragging his lips over Kurt's jaw and neck, nipping and biting the tender skin.

Kurt tried to come to his senses, to feel the cold, impersonal logic fill his brain. But there was no room for it, not with years and years of pent up sexual frustration being released all at once. It felt so good, so all consuming, and for the first time since he was eighteen years old, he found himself mindless and needy with want. Still, his mouth tried to say the right words. "Dave…no," he moaned. "I told you, I don't…I don't…"

Dave raised his head and met Kurt's passion-clouded eyes. He took one hand off of Kurt's wrist, smiling when he noticed it stayed limply in place on the carpet. He brought his hand to the front of Kurt's soft pants, finding the other man's erection with ease. He molded his hand around the shaft and rubbed, bringing his thumb up to sweep across the swollen head. Kurt cried out, high and pure, and the noise went straight to Dave's cock. When Kurt opened his eyes again, Dave spoke, his voice low and gravely. "Yes. Yes you do, Kurt," he said. "With me, you do. With me, you _fuck_." He kissed Kurt's gasping mouth again, letting go of his other wrist and bringing both of his hands to the waistband of Kurt's pants. Finishing the kiss with a fierce bite of Kurt's bottom lip, just short of drawing blood, Dave rose to his knees between Kurt's now splayed legs. He tore the pants off of Kurt's lower half, revealing slender, muscled legs with a light dusting of hair. At their apex was Kurt's leaking cock, surrounded by neat, dark curls and flushed purple at the tip. Kurt writhed on the floor, his hips thrusting up into the cool air. It was so fucking hot, the hottest thing Dave had ever seen. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down his thighs along with his underwear. He grasped his own stiff prick, working it slowly up and down, while he watched Kurt Hummel fall apart beautifully below him.

Kurt watched Dave, eyes widening at the sight of Dave stroking himself off. Oh, God, he was so big and hard, and Kurt felt his asshole twitch involuntarily at the thought of that length and breadth of flesh inside him. "Dave," he groaned, watching as a sticky bead of moisture oozed out of the tip of Dave's cock. Kurt's eyes rolled back in his head, and his head hit the carpet with a muffled thud. He couldn't look anymore, or he was going to come without ever being touched.

Dave stood, kicking off his pants all the way, then stripping his shirt off quickly. He went over to the coffee table and took out the lube and condoms. "Take off your shirt," he said to Kurt. "I want you naked when we fuck." Kurt stirred with a moan, removing his shirt before flopping back to the floor, arms and legs moving restlessly. Dave returned to his knees at Kurt's side, grabbing his hips and flipping him over onto his stomach. He pulled up harshly, getting Kurt up on his knees and presenting his tight, pale ass invitingly. Dave tossed the condoms to the floor, then peeled the plastic protective covering off the lube. Flipping the top, he drizzled a generous amount on his fingers; pulling one of Kurt's ass cheeks to the side, he squeezed more directly onto the pucker of Kurt's hole. He brought his fingers to Kurt's ass, and began stroking slickly.

"Ohhh…" Kurt moaned. The sensation was amazing, causing his cock to throb even harder. Every shred of Kurt's control had been torn away, leaving him with nothing but the feel of Dave mastering his body. He inhaled sharply when Dave slipped the first finger in, driving it all the way home with no hesitation or gentleness. The first and only other time Kurt had experienced this, it had been different; Blaine had been unsure, and Kurt nervous, and the fingering had been cautious and a little awkward. But Dave was no hesitant teenager. He was a man who knew what he wanted and how to do it, and his motions were sure and strong. And Kurt was no longer the delicate boy he had once been, so afraid of the discomfort that accompanied anal sex. Despite his sexual inexperience, Kurt was a man now too, and one who didn't at all mind his pleasure laced with pain. So instead of drawing away or complaining when the one finger turned into two, and then three, he eagerly thrust back on to Dave's slippery digits, enjoying both the delicious slide and the burn.

Dave was impressed with how enthusiastically Kurt took his thick fingers. Kurt was probably as tight as he had been as a virgin, but he showed no sign of shying away or wanting Dave to go slower. Dave knew he should probably go slower, be more gentle with Kurt. But that wasn't the type of lover he was, especially not at a time when he was wound up so tightly with need. He drove his three fingers in and out of Kurt vigorously, curving and twisting them to open him up. Dave knew it had to be hurting Kurt, but the desperate noises the man beneath him was making indicated nothing but pleasure. He caught his fingers just inside the rim and jerked upwards, needing to loosen up Kurt enough to take his substantial cock.

Kurt's entire body jerked at the near tearing sensation. "Yes!" he cried out. It was painful, but he loved it. He loved feeling something, something so hard and strong and real, he could do nothing but submit to it. And he loved that Dave was opening him up so he could have his cock, so much bigger and thicker than his fingers. He wanted that cock driving deep inside him, stretching him to the limit and maybe even beyond. "Dave…_please_," he begged.

The fact that Kurt responded to his roughness so positively was turning Dave on even more. He was at the point where he didn't think he'd last too much longer, and besides, Kurt was probably about as stretched as he was going to get. Dave withdrew his fingers, smiling at Kurt's disappointed moan. He got a condom out of the box and pulled it on, adding more lube and spreading it over the latex. He took a moment to admire the dead sexiness of Kurt's gaping, slick hole, flexing with need, before bringing his cock to it. His clean hand went to Kurt's hip and dug into the flesh there in warning. Kurt began to tremble beneath him, and a soft whine of longing escaped. With no further preamble, Dave shoved his entire length into Kurt, not stopping until his balls slapped against Kurt's perineum. It was so hot, so fucking tight, and then Kurt clenched around him even harder and _screamed_.

The bright hot lance of pain shot through Kurt's body, finally reaching his brain and rendering him completely powerless. It broke something in him, the last tiny thread of control snapped and tossed away violently. He screamed, and the catharsis of letting out everything inside of him nearly shorted out his mind. He started to babble uncontrollably, and endless litany of desperate need. "Oh God fuck yes Dave fuck me fuck me _fuck me_!" he cried.

Dave groaned, trying not to lose it, trying to get a hold of himself so he could give Kurt what they both wanted. He grabbed Kurt's other hip with his dirty, lube slick hand and pulled out until only the tip of his prick was caught inside. Kurt's voice was high and shrieky, and his complete loss of control was eroding Dave's as well. With a grunt, he slammed his hips forward, penetrating Kurt's channel forcibly. The heated walls gave way to his steely hardness, and in the blink of an eye Dave was balls deep again. This time though, he didn't stop. He continued to drive into and pull out of Kurt savagely, fucking him harder and faster than with anyone ever before. Beneath him, Kurt continued to moan and scream filth and honesty.

"Fuck me! Fuck me open split me open oh God rip me apart I love it!" Kurt didn't know if he was talking about his body or his mind or his soul; probably all three at once. Every part of him was open and laid bare by this act; in the moment finally free of everything but who he really was. "Harder harder harder! Harder faster I can take it I can take all of you! All of you inside me fucking me fucking me so hard. Don't stop don't stop don't ever fucking stop!"

Dave's heart was racing, even more sweat slicking his body. Kurt's words were making him lose his mind, making him want to spend the rest of his life doing nothing but this. He wanted to come so badly, but he didn't want this to end, ever. It felt so good, the best thing he had ever felt in his entire life. So he kept going, hammering into Kurt's ass endlessly, grunting and groaning in ecstasy.

Eventually, though, their bodies could only hold off the inevitable for so long. Kurt hadn't touched his own cock at all; he'd been too witless to even think about tending to himself. Dave began to feel the tightening of his balls, the twitching of his thighs that warned him that his climax was at hand. He flung the top of his body over Kurt, his hairy torso scrubbing over Kurt's slick, smooth back as he continued to pump harshly. There was so much sweat between them, it made a squelching sound that would have unpleasant under any other circumstances. Braceleting one hand around Kurt's wrist, he brought the other to his lover's cock and squeezed. Kurt's ramblings choked off into whines and squeaks, and Dave brought his lips to Kurt's ear. "Come for me," he said, somewhere between a plea and a demand. "Come, Kurt. Come while I'm in you, fucking you like this."

The words pushed Kurt over the edge. He keened, and nearly blacked out as his orgasm rushed through his body. Milky semen spurted out of him, coating Dave's hand and the carpet beneath him. He was still crying out through the aftershocks when Dave reached his peak. Roaring, Dave thrust messily into Kurt as he came, filling the latex surrounding him with his hot seed. They finally collapsed to the floor, boneless and panting. Dave knew he was probably crushing Kurt with his weight, but neither of them were capable of movement for several minutes. Finally, Dave pulled out of Kurt, much more gently than anything else he'd done to the man that night. Kurt hissed, and as soon as Dave was done withdrawing, he pulled Kurt's ass cheeks apart softly to inspect the damage. There was no blood, but Kurt's hole was so raw and abused looking, Dave winced in sympathy. Leaning down, he brought the flat of his tongue to the opening and laved it ever so softly. Kurt mewled, so Dave continued for a minute or so, ending with a tiny kiss on the still unfurled hole. He removed and tied off the condom, throwing it off to the side for disposal later. Then he lay back down next to Kurt, working his arm under his neck, and Kurt's head onto his chest.

Kurt looked at Dave, his eyes dark and still somewhat glassy. His cheek was red and abraded where it had rubbed against the scratchy carpet. Kurt knew he should probably be thinking about how this was going to affect them going forward, but his brain was still incapable of thought. Instead he continued to gaze into Dave's catlike golden eyes, nuzzling into his broad chest. Dave felt much the same. They had definitely crossed a line, so many lines that they were in another universe entirely now. A quick fuck wouldn't have changed much, but this…

This would change everything.

_**Well, whoo, I hope you thought this was worth the wait, both for the chapter and finally the UST becoming RST. :) Please do review if you can, it would mean so much to me, especially since this was the chapter I was most excited about delivering to you guys from the very beginning. I would just love to know your thoughts on it.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**So, I apparently broke a few brains with the last chapter, eh? It turned out even smuttier than I envisioned it, and I'm glad you all were on board with the direction I took their first time having sex in. Thank you all so much for the reviews, they really made me just so happy.**_

_**This chapter will be smut-a-rific as well, as well as explore the more emotional side of things. Both men are in a place they've never been before; so the question is, will they fight it, or embrace it? And what will their future hold, now that they've crossed the line? Read on to find out. :)**_

When Dave woke the next morning, he was overcome for a moment with a sense of deja vu. He noted the about the same amount of sunlight streaking through the bedroom window as the day before, the softness of the flannel sheets, and just a hint of mustiness in the air. For a moment, it flashed through his head that he and Kurt finally giving in and fucking like minks might have been some sort of fevered dream. But as his awareness rose, he knew that it had in fact happened. There was the soreness and lethargy that he associated with mornings after he'd hired a prostitute to get his rocks off with. But unlike those mornings, there was the entirely unfamiliar feeling of the warmth and solidity of another body beneath the sheets with him.

Dave blinked the last remnants of sleep from his eyes and turned slightly, propping himself up on his elbow. Still sound asleep beside him, Kurt lay curled into Dave's side, his nose brushing the silky chest hair and his knee wedged comfortably between Dave's thighs. In the bright sunlight that flooded the room, Dave was able to see some things he had missed last night in the relatively poorly lit living room. Like the thin scar on the side of Kurt's neck, and the occasional freckle that interrupted the smooth, pale expanse of his shoulders. Unable to resist, Dave reached out gently with his hand to smooth over Kurt's hair. He'd never woken up beside another man before, never wanted to linger and touch and _remember_ like this; but he felt suspended in the moment, and was unwilling to break the spell.

Said spell had begun last night, right after the mindblowing sex. Neither Kurt nor Dave had said a word to each other, instead staring into each other's eyes and breathing in the scent of sweat and sex for untold minutes. A couple of times, Kurt had opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead closed it without a murmur. Eventually his eyes drifted shut, as if they were too heavy to keep open, and Dave found himself starting to drift off as well. Sleeping naked on a scratchy, thin carpet with no covers to speak of in the middle of winter was hardly how Dave wanted to spend the night, completely fucked-out or not. Tugging at Kurt lightly, he got the other man up on his feet, holding his lithe, swaying body upright in his strong arms. Dave guided him across the carpet and up the stairs, softly caressing the curve of Kurt's ass when it became obvious walking was a bit uncomfortable for him. He'd gotten them both up the stairs and under the covers, and had barely a moment to wonder how long it had been since Kurt had let someone take care of him before they both fell asleep. However long it had been, it had been a lot longer since Dave had wanted to take care of anyone. Except for very grudgingly looking out for his father, in fact, it had never happened before.

Dave's hand brushed against the shell of Kurt's ear, and the slight touch caused Kurt to stir. He hummed quietly, burrowing deeper into the blankets and Dave's chest. His knee hitched up a bit and made contact with Dave's dick, which was half hard from the morning, and becoming firmer from Kurt's knee. Dave rubbed against it, the sparse hair on the kneecap creating a pleasant friction on the sensitive head. Dave ghosted his hand down to Kurt's neck, and Kurt's eyes finally blinked open. At first they were rather blank, as though Kurt didn't quite remember where he was or what was going on. Dave wondered for a moment if Kurt was going to go cold, to retreat back to his usual cynical self. He was prepared for it; Kurt had been so vulnerable, so needy beneath Dave's hands, lips and cock. He might not want to waste any time putting those walls back up again. But in an instant of recognition, Kurt's blue eyes warmed like a gas flame, and he smiled almost shyly.

It had taken Kurt a moment to remember the context of where he was, and with who. But the press of his bare skin against another had memories of the previous night rushing back. He knew he should probably be appalled over his loss of control, should put some space between himself and Dave. But his sluggish thoughts and well-used body refused to cooperate. They wanted not distance, but more of the same. More of Dave's sexual prowess, more of his rough touch and muscled frame. He'd been so tightly contained for so long, he could have never imagined how good it would feel to finally yield, to stop thinking and just _feel_. "Morning," he mumbled, wondering what kind of response he would get from Dave. There was no question that Dave had enjoyed Kurt's surrender the night before, but perhaps in the light of day, he'd be disgusted by or mock Kurt's weakness. He breathed in slightly, ready for the possible rejection.

"Morning," replied Dave. He rolled his hips into Kurt's knee, letting him feel how hard he was. He watched Kurt's smile turn sly, in a way that was all at once familiar and new. By now he was used to Kurt's teasing expression, but it was different this morning. Instead of the usual calculated light in his eyes, there was something else. Something that looked one hell of a lot like affection. Instead of distance, there was unspoken promise there, and it made a world of difference.

"Oh my, Karofsky," Kurt purred. "What have we here? Did you bring your gun to bed with you last night?"

Dave snorted. "Nope," he answered. "But it _is_ something that's likely to go off. Maybe you should, ah...check to make sure the safety's on." He rolled his eyes mentally at his own cheesiness, but couldn't wipe the smile off his own face. Maybe it was stupid, but he was having fun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd found something fun, and decided not to resist the urge to just go with it.

Kurt's eyes lit up, and his smile widened. "You're probably right," he agreed. "After all, that's the first rule of gun safety." He slid his hand down Dave's furred chest to his navel, circling it once before tracing down the trail of hair beneath it. Reaching his goal, he grasped Dave's erection firmly. "Always treat any weapon like it's loaded."

"Oh, it's loaded, all right," said Dave, groaning a little as Kurt's hand stroked him up and down. "I'd think last night would have proved that."

"I don't know," said Kurt. "I'm skeptical. I mean, it's not like I got to see much, the way you had me bent over on the floor." He delighted at how Dave's eyes closed, how his groan increased in volume at Kurt's words. "Maybe if I take a closer look, that will convince me." He tossed the covers off of them, and looked down at Dave's thick cock gripped in his hand. Kurt felt an arrow of want stab into his belly as the visual was added to the tactile sensation. He'd only ever touched two other penises before like this; his own, and Blaine's all those years ago. Kurt was fairly sure that it wasn't just his relatively untried status and how roughly Dave had taken him that had left him so completely reamed out. Dave's length was about average, but the circumference was impressive, to say the least. Every part of Dave, it seemed, was wide, thick and strong. And Kurt wanted to revel in that, to appreciate it in a way he'd been too helpless with need the night before to indulge in. He slipped down the bed until his face was level with Dave's cock, examining the shiny skin stretched over the flared head, and inhaling the musky, masculine scent of dried sweat and come. He flicked out his tongue and licked the warm, silky skin of Dave's shaft.

Dave gasped at the feel of Kurt's tongue lapping at his length, warm and soft. "Fuck," he gritted out.

Kurt stopped for a moment, curling his tongue up to touch the center of his top lip before speaking. "I think I might be a little too sore for that right now," he said. It was such a different feeling, taunting a man while knowing that the end result would be pleasure for both of them. It held a similar kind of power, but with an added sense that an even greater reward lay ahead. "You remember why, right? Why my ass is so sore, even all these hours later?"

Dave nodded sharply once and grunted, figuring that responding might help get Kurt's mouth to stop talking, and get back on his dick.

"Why, Dave?" asked Kurt, low and sultry. He brought his lips back again, but didn't make contact. Instead he spoke, knowing his hot breath would tickle the sensitive skin. Kurt didn't have a lot of hands on experience, per se; but he did have a cock of his own, so it wasn't too difficult to guess at what might feel good.

_Fucking tease_, thought Dave, though with little irritation. Kurt had been at his mercy last night, so it only seemed to make sense that he might want to turn the tables a bit. They were so evenly matched in every other way, it only seemed to make sense that that would follow them into the bedroom. "Because I fucked you," he answered.

"That's right, you did," said Kurt. "You took this big cock…" he paused to lick at the strained flesh, "…drove it inside me so fucking hard. I thought I was going to split in two." He continued to trade off swipes of his tongue with words. "So thick…spreading my ass wide open. Hurt so good…to take every inch of you. Must have been tight in there…for you."

Dave's eyes were slitted, his breath starting to come fast. "So tight," he said.

Kurt paused, looking up at Dave through his long lashes. "I'll take it again," he promised. "Soon. But in the meantime…" Kurt shifted up onto his knees and Dave rolled onto his back, parting his legs so Kurt could get into place between them. "My mouth isn't as tight as my ass," he informed Dave. "But it probably has its own charm. Let's see, shall we?" And with that, Kurt engulfed the top two-thirds of Dave's cock, sliding down until his lips touched his own hand curled around the base.

"Ungh," Dave grunted. The heat and damp of Kurt's mouth was exactly what he needed, after being teased so naughtily. The sides of his cock rubbed against the pillowy insides of Kurt's cheeks, and the underside dragged along the wet path of his tongue. Even without knowing the facts, Dave would have been able to guess that Kurt was much more inexperienced at sucking dick than the pros he was used to. There was the occasional scrape of teeth, and every once in a while he'd go a bit too deep and Kurt would choke. But Dave had no complaints; what the man blowing him lacked in knowledge, he made up for in enthusiasm. Kurt was sucking with the same dedication and focus Dave had noticed in his work, and seemed like he was having the time of his life doing it. He could see Kurt's lips curve up in a smile around his dick when Dave made a particularly needy sound, and hear the pleasurable _mmmf_ noises that he'd predicted Kurt would make when he'd fantasized about him in the shower.

Kurt was, in fact, enjoying the hell out of giving his first blow job. He'd never blown Blaine; the boys had kept to hand jobs and frotting up until the night they'd actually fucked. Eighteen year old Kurt had found the idea kind of gross, especially the thought that Blaine might lose control and come in his mouth. But twenty-five year old Kurt was a different person entirely, and he loved everything about it. The heft of Dave's erection against his tongue, the noises Dave was making, the taste of pre-come leaking from the

tip, the smell of both dried and fresh sweat...all of his senses were engaged. There was no room for anything else, no thoughts of the work that still needed to be done, or the danger they were in. Just Dave's cock, Kurt's mouth, and their mutual desire for each other.

Dave was getting close. He could start to feel the pressure building in his balls, the flesh of his sac starting to tighten. But instead of following through, and emptying himself into Kurt's mouth, he found himself wanting to take Kurt with him, to see his face when he came. He reached down with his hand and took a handful of Kurt's hair, tugging on it lightly. Kurt made a whiny noise of dissent, obviously not wanting to be interrupted from the task at hand. Dave gripped harder, and yanked sharply on the silky strands, until Kurt pulled off with a glare.

"What the fuck, Dave?" he said pissily. "I'm trying to blow you, in case you hadn't noticed." He started to dip his head again, but Dave pulled his hair again painfully. "Jesus Christ, _what_?"

Dave stared at Kurt, completely turned on by his bitchy demeanor, his spit-slicked mouth, and his dedication to blowing him. Kurt definitely noticed, and the annoyed expression faded from his face. His cheeks flushed, and he intentionally pulled against the tight grip Dave had on his hair. If the moan he let out was any indication, pleasure from the pain had definitely replaced irritation. "Get up here," ordered Dave, with another hard jerk of his hand. Kurt raised himself obediently up Dave's body, until their faces were even. Dave used the firm grip he still had on Kurt's hair to smash their mouths together, and the moment their tongues touched, they both lost control.

Kurt's knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto Dave, who finally let go of his hair and brought both big hands to his ass. Gripping the taut globes hard enough to bruise, he ground their cocks against each other, thrusting up powerfully. Kurt cried out into Dave's mouth, grabbing his shoulders and sinking his fingernails into the skin. Dave wrenched Kurt over, so that they were lying on their sides, heaving and straining against each other desperately. Dave, already further ahead than Kurt, came first, groaning out Kurt's name as he spilled. The sound, combined with the now slippery slide of his dick, helped catch Kurt up quickly. He found himself hung up on the precipice, though, needing some new stimulation to push him over.

"Almost, almost," Kurt chanted. He pumped his hips furiously. "Help me, Dave, _fuck_ help me get there I can't-" Kurt broke off as he felt Dave's hand move to the cleft of his ass.

Mindful of how inflamed Kurt's hole likely still was, Dave considered quickly how to give Kurt enough sensation to spur on his orgasm, without doing further damage. Based on what he'd seen last night, there was no way he was going to penetrate Kurt such a short time later, even with a single digit. Dave rubbed the tip of his finger against the crinkled rim, but he could tell from Kurt's frustrated whimper that it wasn't enough. Inspiration struck quickly, though. Dave brought the pad of his thumb to the fingernail of his middle finger. He tightened both, then released his middle finger, delivering a stinging flick to the outside of Kurt's hole.

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been forceful enough to create any more than the slightest discomfort. But the tissue there was overly sensitive, still tender and chafed from Dave's cock. It was perfect, just the right amount of hurt. Kurt's orgasm hit him like a freight train, and he wailed as he came all over Dave, adding his own come to the sticky mess between them.

They lay together, trying to catch their breath. Kurt released his death grip on Dave's shoulders, leaving behind deep half-moon indentations where his nails had dug in deep. Kurt brushed his lips against the ones he could reach, until Dave tilted his head up with a finger on his chin and moved in for a kiss. Dave had just started to suck on Kurt's bottom lip when his stomach rumbled loudly, startling them both out of the kiss. Kurt laughed. "I think somebody worked up an appetite," he said.

"I guess so," said Dave. "Breakfast?"

"Sounds good," Kurt agreed. "Why don't you take a shower, since you didn't get one last night. I can clean up in the sink, then throw something together." He got up, cupping his hand above his groin so the come wouldn't drip off of his stomach onto the floor. "I'll meet you down there." Naked, he made his way down the staircase, stopping to pick up his clothes where they were strewn in the living room. Going into the kitchen, Kurt wet some paper towels and cleaned himself off the best he could, then slipped back into the jersey garments. He started the coffee brewing, and went to the refrigerator to see what Dave had bought for him to work with. There were eggs and milk, so it looked like scrambled eggs were a good possibility. There was also some bacon left over from what he'd needed to make the drippings from for the coq au vin. Some toast would round out the meal nicely. It was a shame he didn't have the ingredients to make something more interesting. He thought of how good it had felt when Dave complimented his dinner, and wished he could show off his amazing eggs Benedict with made-from-scratch Hollandaise sauce, or the blue corn pancakes with rum butter that were his personal favorite. _Maybe someday_, he was starting to think, when the self-awareness hit him like a fist to the gut.

Paling, Kurt stepped away from the refrigerator. What was he doing? Was he really thinking about continuing this…whatever the fuck it was with Dave, past the few days they would have in the safehouse? It was impossible. He was getting carried away, playing frigging _house_ with Dave, reverting back to the old Kurt. The one who had lost everything, because he had everything to lose. He needed to stop this. The sex was one thing, but the rest? Unacceptable. He squared his shoulders, going back to the refrigerator and taking out what he needed. Calmly, he set about mixing the eggs and milk with a fork, laying the bacon in a skillet and turning the burner to medium. He had just set the bread to toasting when Dave walked into the kitchen, wearing his own lounge pants and t-shirt.

Dave got a mug out of the cupboard and headed towards the coffee maker, which was to the left of the stove. Kurt had yet to acknowledge his presence, so he brushed up against him as he passed, sweeping a hand gently across Kurt's hip. Kurt's reaction surprised Dave; instead of making a quip and leaning into his touch, he stiffened and pulled away. "Everything okay, Kurt?" he asked, puzzled.

Kurt turned and looked at Dave for the first time since leaving their bed. He felt a funny clutching in his chest at the sight of Dave's honestly questioning expression, the concerned tone of his voice. He steeled himself against it. "Of course," he said, with a practiced, unaffected air. "Just busy cooking."

At first, Dave was taken aback by the coolness of Kurt's voice and gaze. There was a short pang of loss, before he too brought his defenses back up. It had only been a matter of time, after all. "Smells good," he said, offhandedly, pouring himself a cup of coffee and taking a sip. Without another word, he retreated to the table and booted up the laptop. The silence in the kitchen stretched out, until Kurt finished cooking and slid two full plates onto the table. Dave shifted into the chair in front of one of the plates and picked up the silverware on top of it. "Thanks," he said, before digging in.

Kurt settled into his own seat and started eating. He knew he'd seasoned the eggs properly, but they somehow still seemed rather tasteless. He flicked his eyes to Dave, who was shoveling in his food at a rapid pace, staring straight ahead at nothing. They finished their breakfast quietly, Dave rising when they were both done to collect the dirty dishes and place them in the sink. Kurt watched him go back to the other chair and stare at the laptop, face devoid of expression. _This is how it needs to be_, thought Kurt. _This is smart. Right._ He was doing a bang-up job of following along with that line of thought, when Dave absently licked his lips, and Kurt was flooded with the memory of how that tongue tasted, how it felt sliding against his own. His walls, so hastily and inadequately rebuilt, crumbled in an instant. It _was_ crazy to think that he and Dave could ever have anything beyond the front door of this house. But while they were still here, safely ensconced within it? Fuck it. They could have whatever they wanted together.

Dave was opening up the browser to check on further news regarding St. James's campaign, when the laptop lid was slammed down with a loud snap. He whipped his head up at Kurt. "The fuck are you-" he started angrily, when he was cut off by Kurt mashing his lips against Dave's. The turnaround in Kurt's mood was so sudden and drastic, Dave at first couldn't even respond to the kiss. But then he felt Kurt's tongue prodding at his lips, and Kurt crawling into his lap, and it spurred him into action. Dave kissed Kurt back, hard and passionate, bringing his hands to Kurt's sides and squeezing.

Reluctantly detaching his mouth from Dave's, Kurt spoke. "We're taking the day off," he said firmly.

"We are?" asked Dave. He smiled as Kurt's nose brushed his own.

"Yes," said Kurt. "I haven't had a day off in seven years, and I'm willing to bet you haven't either. We have a lot of time to make up for, in that case. And if it's okay with you, Dave, I'd like to spend most of it naked."

Dave pretended to consider. "I guess that would be okay," he said. "On one condition."

"Which would be?" said Kurt.

"I get to be naked too," Dave answered.

"Well, if it's a deal breaker," said Kurt playfully. "I guess I have no choice. Nudity all around, then."

They found their way back to the bedroom in a haze of touching, kissing and groping. Along the way Dave snagged the condoms and lube from the living room floor, where they'd lain since the night before. Soon their clothes were abandoned on the bedroom floor, and once again Kurt and Dave were under the covers of the bed, their warm bare skin pressed together. Because they'd both come so recently, the desperation of their earlier couplings was absent. Instead, they talked softly, laughed and snuggled; secure in the knowledge that they had hours and hours to spend doing nothing but savoring each other.

"You know," said Kurt, resting his chin on Dave's tummy, feet hanging off the end of the bed and not even caring. "Even with all the Q and A, there's still one thing I don't know about you." He pressed a kiss to Dave's stomach, drawing some of the hairs into his mouth and tugging.

"What's that?" asked Dave.

"Do you ever bottom?" Kurt asked.

"I have," said Dave. "When I first started with the hookers, I tried it both ways. I always knew I was only attracted to guys, but the only way to really know what I liked, specifically, was to try it out. I like being on top, mostly. But every once in a while, I like to be fucked. Sometimes it was the mood I was in when I made the call, or sometimes they'd send over a guy and I just knew when he got there that I wanted his cock in me, instead of the other way around." Dave pressed a finger to Kurt's temple, drawing it down the side of his face until it met the corner of his mouth. "So yeah, I bottom, sometimes. I take it you…"

"I've only ever been fucked," affirmed Kurt. "First Blaine, and then you."

"That something you're looking to change?" asked Dave. His dick actually twitched at the thought.

Kurt's mouth fell open a little. "You want me to…" he trailed off, feeling Dave's cock begin to swell against his sternum. _Oh_.

"Only if you want to," said Dave. "No pressure."

Of course not, none at all. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Kurt was practically a virgin. Since then he'd been fucked vigorously, given a blow job, and rubbed himself and Dave to climax completely nude. All that had gone rather well, though. And it wasn't like they weren't on borrowed time. In this time and space, Kurt wanted to take advantage of the chance to explore the parts of himself he'd closed off for so long; both his emotions, and his sexuality. Dave was obviously interested, and Kurt would be lying if he said he wasn't aroused by the thought as well. "I do," said Kurt, pupils dilating. "I want to fuck you, Dave. Show me how?"

Dave reached down and pulled Kurt up his body until they were face to face, their steadily filling cocks brushing against each other's. "Yeah," said Dave. "I'll show you how." He gave Kurt a lingering kiss. "Go get the lube, so you can prep me."

Dave showed Kurt, with words and gestures, how to open him up, to ready him for Kurt's cock. It wasn't rocket science, of course; Kurt had been on the receiving end of such, and it wasn't like Dave needed to be treated with utmost tender care. But it made Kurt feel better and more confident to have Dave guiding him, assuring him that he was doing the right thing in the right way. Kurt's fingers weren't as thick as Dave's, but they were long and talented, reaching into the limits of Dave's passage, stroking and stretching the velvety, hot tunnel until it was lax and welcoming. Dave spread his legs even further, bucking up into the press of Kurt's fingers.

"Now?" asked Kurt. He hoped so. His cock was hard as stone in anticipation of sinking into the heat of Dave's entrance.

"Now," agreed Dave, somewhat desperately. He watched through half-lidded eyes as Kurt rolled a condom on himself, with the care of someone wholly unfamiliar with the act. Dave brought his fingers to the tip of the rubber and pulled slightly, creating a space so it wouldn't break when Kurt filled it with his come.

"Sorry," said Kurt, a flush pinkening his cheeks. "I've never…"

"S'okay," said Dave. "You're good. Perfect. Just, fuck, get in me already. I want it so bad. Need you in me."

"Okay," said Kurt. He reached for the bottle of lube again, slicking himself up. His excitement became nearly unbearable as he pressed the head of his cock against Dave's hole. Even when he'd let himself think that maybe someday he'd tire of his celibacy and have sex, he'd never really thought about it like this. Because his first time had happened with him on the bottom and enjoying it thoroughly, it was just what came to mind the few times he pictured the act. Everything he'd done with Dave so far had been so hot, but this was stoking his lust in a way he was unprepared for. There was also something especially arousing about the idea of fucking someone as big and strong as Dave, someone much larger than Kurt, and just as dangerous.

Kurt didn't know how much force would be needed to penetrate Dave, so he pushed his hips forward experimentally. He must have done a good job prepping him, because the tip of his cock started immediately slipping in. They gasped in tandem.

"C'mon, Kurt," Dave rasped out. "Give it to me. Want you inside. Want to take your cock like you took mine last night." He raised his hips, and more of Kurt slid inside him. "Fuck me. Fuck me like I fucked you. Hard and fast. _Please_."

The sound of Dave begging for more of his dick was all the incentive Kurt needed. Sucking in a breath, he thrust forward, his hands on Dave's bent knees for support and leverage. For a moment, he thought he might pass right out from the feeling of being inside another man for the first time. It was so much hotter, so much tighter than any hand could be. "Guh!" he shouted, wordlessly, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, fingernails digging into Dave's kneecaps.

"Do it," said Dave. "Just fucking do it, just fuck me already." He knew Kurt wasn't teasing intentionally, and probably just getting his bearings or trying not to come on the spot. But this was torturous, the feel of Kurt's solid length inside of him, but not moving. "You gotta move, Kurt."

Finally opening his eyes, Kurt stared down at Dave, incredibly turned on by Dave's need, and his hairy body spread beneath him. He pulled out and pushed quickly back in again, the muscles of Dave's ass kneading his stiff cock even harder. He started a steady, pounding rhythm, snapping his hips forward and loving the sound of them smacking loudly against Dave's ass. Dave's legs moved restlessly, and Kurt's hands instinctively moved off Dave's knees to cup his calves. He tugged Dave's legs up, lifting them over his slim hips but not letting go. Kurt pulled on Dave's legs every time he sank into him, jerking Dave forward into his thrusts.

Kurt was grunting and growling as he drilled in, making sounds unlike the high-pitched cries and whines Dave had become familiar with so far. He fucked Dave with sure, strong strokes that had the flesh of his ass rippling from the force. Dave remembered his own first time screwing a guy; how it had felt so incredible, the whore's ass so snug and warm around his cock he'd nearly gone off in moments. Only days after his father was gone, he'd found the guy, no older than himself, on Craigslist. Dave didn't remember his name, but he'd been pretty, pale and brunette, just like Kurt. Unlike Kurt, though, he had a strong Irish accent that made him difficult to understand. Probably some kid who had come to the U.S. to try and make a better life, only to wind up turning tricks to make ends meet instead. Not that Dave was much interested in making much conversation with the other boy, or finding out anything about his background. He'd fucked him for as long as he could hold out, paid him in cash, and sent him on his way, leaving Dave's desire for men sated for the first time. Dave had probably looked a lot like Kurt did now back then; straining, sweating, making low, base, animalistic noises as he pumped away.

Since Kurt's hands were full, and he seemed rather preoccupied at the moment, Dave took himself in hand. He jerked himself roughly, getting to the edge much more quickly than usual. The sounds Kurt was making, the sight of his face twisted in pleasure, the feel of his rutting cock; they were all driving Dave towards what he could already tell would be an explosive climax.

As soon as Kurt saw Dave begin to stroke himself through his squinted eyes, he felt a coiling in his gut, and he knew he was close. He tried to last as long as he could, but his body rocketed towards release. "Dave," he gasped, barely able to speak. "Gonna...fuck, I'm gonna come...I can't-" he broke off, biting into his lip hard and tasting blood.

"You don't have to," said Dave, the thought of Kurt coming inside him giving him that final push. He erupted all over his hand, groaning loudly.

Kurt watched Dave shudder and come beneath him, and he was done for. Digging his fingers into Dave's calves so hard there would be bruises to match his own, he shoved in one last time and emptied himself into him. He felt everything releasing in him and flowing into his lover. Not just his semen, but every other part of him as well, leaving his body and becoming part of Dave. It was overwhelming, and left him shaking and boneless. He collapsed forward onto Dave's chest, his arms going limp and letting Dave's legs fall to the bed. Kurt tried to get his breathing back to normal, but Dave's heat was surrounding him, and he could hear his heart thundering in his broad chest. His breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of emotions. After a long while, he raised his head and looked at Dave, whose eyes were warm and almost entirely golden. He looked at Kurt fondly, and with a care Kurt hadn't seen directed at him in years and years. "Jesus, Dave," Kurt said. "That was _incredible_."

The awe on Kurt's face touched something deep inside Dave, something he hadn't even known was there. Kurt was looking at him like Dave had shown him all the secrets of the universe; his face was amazed, satisfied and grateful at the same time. He brought his hand to cup Kurt's cheek, giving him a searing kiss. "Me too," he told Kurt when their lips parted. "For me too, Kurt."

They spent most of the day and evening in bed, going downstairs only to heat up the leftovers and gobble them down for sustenance. There was no corner of either of their bodies that escaped exploration by the other. The hours passed in a blur of moans, body fluids, and touches both gentle and rough. Kurt and Dave slept in fits and starts, always waking hungry and needing each other, and giving into that need easily. When they finally woke to sunlight after hours of darkness, they by unspoken agreement ignored the fact that their "day off" had come to an end. Instead they had each other again, suckling each other's cocks in a side-lying 69 until they both reached their peak. Laughing, they stumbled naked down the hall to the too-small shower and crammed themselves in, washing each other with soap-slick hands. They dried off and headed downstairs for some breakfast, neither even looking at the closed laptop still on the kitchen table. Instead of heading upstairs after, they settled on the couch, arguing playfully over what to watch while flipping channels. Settling on a Law and Order marathon, they whiled away the afternoon discussing the how the perps could have done a better job of covering their tracks, and comparing notes on which guest stars were the most attractive.

The more time they spent together, the further away the reality of their lives got. In this house, they weren't vicious killers; Kurt wasn't a devastated orphan, and Dave wasn't a street kid who'd never had a chance. It was as if they had found a safe haven where each of them could be the person they would have been their lives had been completely different. If they had lead their lives uninterrupted by years of violence, or isolation. They cuddled on the couch with a ratty blanket over them, watching TV like any average couple might do on a cold winter Sunday when there was nothing better to do. But as twilight approached, Dave couldn't help thoughts of what they really _should _be doing creeping in. He sighed, pressing his lips to Kurt's temple. His arms tightened around Kurt, who he spooned on the couch, so warm and safe.

"What?" said Kurt, caressing Dave's hands where they were linked around his waist.

"We can't keep doing this," said Dave. He felt Kurt tense, so he kissed Kurt's head again. "Don't get me wrong, I want to. Whatever this is that we've been doing for the past two days, I wish it never had to end. I never knew I was capable of this. I think..I think I'm actually happy, Kurt."

Kurt turned in Dave's arms. Dave seemed almost puzzled, like the concept of happiness was so foreign to him, he couldn't quite grasp it. After they'd traded histories, if you had asked Kurt who had it worse, he would have undoubtedly said himself. Not only everyone he loved, but every semblance of his previously content life had been torn away suddenly and viciously. Dave's life had been hard, but in Kurt's mind, it was probably much less affecting because he'd never known anything different. But now that he was able to access the empathy that he'd thought was long dead within him, he felt differently. Even though he chose not to remember the good times with his family because it was too painful, they were still there. Still part of what made him Kurt Hummel. But when he looked at Dave, he realized he wasn't just looking at a guy who'd had a really tough time growing up. He was looking at a twenty-five year old man who, up until the last forty-eight hours, had never experienced happiness. Not even for a short time. Kurt's throat closed up, and he felt tears come to his eyes for the first time in seven years. They stung, like his tear ducts had shriveled up from lack of use and the moisture was gouging them open. "I'm glad," he said, a little raspy. He smiled when Dave's eyes widened, obviously startled by how shiny Kurt's had become. Emotion flooded Kurt as he realized how good it felt, how huge, to bring joy to a person who had never felt it before. "I'm glad I could give you that."

Dave couldn't name the feeling that shot through him at Kurt's tear-edged words. It felt wonderful and painful at the same time, and nearly took his breath away. He tipped Kurt's head up and kissed him softly. "Thank you," he said. It sounded so stupid to his own ears, but he didn't have any other words that could even come close to expressing how he felt at that moment. Having everything you didn't even know you needed, and knowing it had to come to an end. His eyes started to burn, and his vision blurred. He realized with a combination of wonder and horror that he was starting to tear up, and the surprise of it had him shifting from under Kurt and stumbling off the couch. Dave had never cried before; at least, not since he was young enough to have no memory of it. He heard movement from the sofa, probably Kurt sitting up or something.

"Dave," Kurt started, extending his hand even though the other man refused to even look at him.

"This has to stop," Dave said. He turned to Kurt, trying to sound calm, detached. If the look on Kurt's face was any indication, he was doing a shitty job.

Kurt stood, and laid all his cards on the table. "I don't want it to stop."

A laugh escaped Dave, but it was a rather despondent sounding one. "Well, like my old man used to say, 'want in one hand and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first'," he said. "We can't stay here, Kurt. The only reason this place is safe is because it's used so infrequently. The longer we stay, the more time whoever St. James hires next has to find us. My connection here is buried deep, but you know as well as I do that with enough time anything can be uncovered. We might have a few days or even weeks of this, but it'll end with us both dead because if it."

Kurt swallowed. He wasn't entirely convinced that it wouldn't be worth it, compared to going back to the way things were. But he didn't want to say that aloud. It sounded too much like giving up, and no matter what had changed since they'd come to Lima, Kurt was still no quitter. And neither, he knew, was Dave. "We could keep moving," Kurt said, weakly. It was a terrible suggestion, but he was grasping at straws in desperation.

Dave shot a glare at him. "Fuck that," he said. He felt bad seeing Kurt's wince in response, but continued. "I'm not going to spend my life on the road, living in anonymous shitholes and constantly looking over my shoulder. I'm not going to run scared, not even for this. For you. Because it would destroy what we've had here, and you know it."

"What if it wasn't like that?" asked Kurt. "Would you want to? Walk away from what you were, and start over again somewhere new? No more guns, no more B and E; no more blood or death?" He walked up to Dave and grabbed his shoulders, staring intently into his eyes. "Tell me the truth, Dave. Look me in the eye and tell me. Would you want that with me?"

"It doesn't matter!" shouted Dave, shoving Kurt away. "It's not going to happen, so why do you keep fucking pushing it, Kurt? Even if we find the pictures and give them to St. James, it might not work. He might not call off the hit. We'll be one fuck of a lot easier to kill if we stay together, because it'll slow us down. And we'll be so fucking distracted, worrying about keeping each other safe, they'll probably take us out in a week."

Kurt stood his ground, folding his arms. "Answer me," he said, the steely focus Dave remembered back in an instant. "Stop bitching and moaning about what can or can't be, and answer my fucking question, Dave. You owe me. I didn't give a shit about anything until you dragged me here. You did this to me, brought me to this." He poked his finger into Dave's chest. "Now answer my fucking question!" he yelled.

"Of course I fucking want to be with you!" roared Dave. He grabbed Kurt by the upper arms roughly, hauling him forward and crushing their mouths together. He ravaged Kurt's soft mouth until he tasted blood, then pushed Kurt away again with a pathetic whimper. The burning in his eyes was back. "I didn't know, I never knew what it could be like, being with someone like this. I didn't know it would fill up all the empty places inside of me. I didn't even know I _was _empty, until I wasn't anymore, and it felt like-" Dave's voice broke on a sob.

Kurt felt his heart break, seeing Dave so broken, so vulnerable. He watched in shock as one tear rolled down Dave's face, then another. Kurt tried to lay his hand on his cheek, but the other man flinched away, taking a step back, shaking his head.

"It made me soft," Dave continued. "Weak. And I loved it. Loved being like that with you. But we can't be soft and weak, and still survive when they come for us, Kurt."

Dave was only speaking the truth. Kurt knew it, but his heart and his mind refused to accept it. Being with Dave, like this…it was like it had brought him back to life again. Brought back the person who felt things, and had the capacity to love someone. He wasn't giving up on that, or the man who had made such an impossible thing happen. "Then we don't wait for them to come to us," he said calmly, his voice firm.

"What?" asked Dave. _What the hell is he talking about?_ thought Dave.

"I want this," said Kurt. "And so do you. We _can_ have it, Dave. But you're right, it's not gonna happen if we go on the run. We need to do what we've always done; what we've been paid good money for, and excelled at. We need to take care of this fucking problem and make it disappear. I've done it for plenty of clients, and so have you. This is no different." He could sense that Dave was responding to his serious, confident tone. He looked much less upset, and a lot more interested in what Kurt was saying. "You're right that the senator might never call off the hit, no matter what we do."

At first Dave didn't know quite what Kurt was getting at. Then he did, but found it hard to believe. Kurt had some pretty big balls (both literally and figuratively speaking), but surely he wasn't audacious enough to suggest what Dave thought he was suggesting. "You don't mean…" he said incredulously, trailing off. Kurt smiled, and it was the calculated, cocky smirk that Dave remembered all too well. His eyes though…they weren't hard and cold, but heated and impassioned.

"Oh, I do," Kurt said. "We have to kill Jesse St. James."

"Let me get this straight," said Dave. "You want to assassinate a current Presidential candidate?"

Kurt approached Dave with a slight saunter. He raised his hand to Dave's face, stroking his jaw lightly. "Actually, I want _us_ to assassinate a current Presidential candidate," he said. "It's going to be quite difficult, so I could really use the help."

Dave took placed his hand over Kurt's and removed it, but didn't let go. "Difficult?" he said, squeezing Kurt's hand. "Kurt, it's going to be a lot more than just difficult. You're fucking crazy."

"I could say, 'nope, just crazy about you', but that would be beyond clichéd," Kurt said with a grin. At Dave's still concerned look, though, he became more serious. "I know it will be the biggest, riskiest, most dangerous job either of us has done. But if anyone has the skill to pull this off, it's the two of us working together. And I'd say we're pretty fucking motivated to get this shit done, right?"

Dave examined Kurt for any sign of fear or doubt, but there was none. He thought about what might happen if things went wrong, if they got caught. Then he thought about making the decision to go back to his old life, about voluntarily choosing never to see, hear or touch Kurt again. And in that moment, Dave knew why Kurt was so sure this was the right thing to do. Because anything else would pale in comparison, next to living the rest of his life knowing that he didn't fight for Kurt. For them. He smiled at Kurt, letting a gentle kiss be his response. He felt himself being tugged forward and turned; then Kurt pushed down on his shoulders, and he found himself sitting on the couch.

Kurt pulled at his clothes, wordlessly encouraging Dave to do the same. When they were both bare, Kurt straddled Dave's lap, and they began to grind against each other, each working the other to hardness. They peppered each other's faces with kisses, their lips meeting often, tongues dancing together like quicksilver. Panting, Dave snatched the lube and condoms (both more than half depleted by this point) out of the cushions, where they had stashed them in case things got sexy during their earlier TV marathon. He prepped Kurt, testing for residual soreness, but when Kurt began to ride his fingers eagerly Dave knew he'd be able to take his cock again without pain. "You ready?" he asked, withdrawing his fingers.

"Oh God, yes," said Kurt, raising up on his knees and feeling Dave line up with his entrance. "I can't wait to have your cock in me again." He pressed down strongly. "Unnnnh, so fucking _good_," he moaned, as he slid down Dave's length until he'd taken every inch.

"Ride me, Kurt," gasped Dave. He used his hands on Kurt's hips and ass to guide him on and off, varying the speed and intensity until they were both damp with sweat and groaning. Nearing the edge, Dave removed one of his hands and curled it around Kurt's cock, pumping it in time with their thrusts. He thumbed the weeping slit and Kurt spilled with a cry, throwing his head back until the tendons in his neck stood out.

Kurt fought the desire to collapse, and began to bounce up and down on Dave's dick even harder. Sifting a hand through Dave's silky web of chest hair, he closed one nipple between two fingers and scratched his thumbnail across the turgid nub. It sent Dave flying over the edge, and Kurt milked his cock until it was spent and soft. Sinking down into Dave's lap, he rested their foreheads together, their breathing slowly becoming even again. When he pulled back, they gazed at each other silently, until Dave spoke.

"I've never loved anyone," said Dave. "I don't really know how you do it, or what it feels like. But I want to learn. I want to love you, Kurt."

Kurt smiled, and pressed his lips to Dave's chastely. "I've loved before," he said. "It's been a long time, and I thought I'd forgotten how. But I do remember how it felt. And it felt…a lot like this." Linking their hands, he laid his cheek on Dave's shoulder. Tomorrow they would begin to work as professionals again, to assure their safety and future together. But tonight they were only lovers, with many precious hours to go before dawn.

_**Well, that took a lot longer to write than I planned, but it turned out long as hell and really smutty, so hopefully that makes up for it. :)**_

_**As always, your reviews, feedback and thoughts are appreciated, each one hugged to my bosom adoringly. A whole lot happened in this chapter, especially on the emotional side of things, and I'd love to hear if it tugged at your heartstrings…or not.**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**I cannot thank all of you enough for your interest, reviews and support for this story. I was both excited as hell and scared to death to do something so AU, but you all have made it such a wonderful experience for me. There's a lot of plot and action in this chapter, which I hope you enjoy. And the end…well, let's just say, there's an "homage" to one of my older fics there. Gold stars to anyone who catches it. :)**_

The Cherry Blossom Room, touted as the most intimate of the Gaylord National Ballrooms, was filled to the walls with some of D.C.'s biggest movers and shakers. Of course, only in Washington could a room with a capacity for five hundred tables of ten be considered "intimate"; but compared to the fifty thousand square foot Potomac Ballroom in the same facility, it was positively tiny. As a veritable who's who of Republican politicians and wealthy, conservatively-based supporters stood around sipping drinks and eating finger foods, an uninvited guest entered casually, undetected.

Dave wove his way through the room, his powerful build tamed, but still yet flatteringly displayed in the two button Hugo Boss tux. He blended in easily; one of the benefits of a job at a black tie event was that with so many men dressed almost exactly alike, it wasn't difficult to be completely inconspicuous. Dave nodded and smiled at several people as he passed, amused as usual by how people who had never seen him before returned the gesture with an air of familiarity. Better to pretend, Dave supposed, than to seem unsure and risk offending some VIP. As he made his way closer to the end of the room where a head table was set up, he finally spotted the target. The man who had inadvertently brought Kurt and Dave together, and in trying to destroy that, had brought about his own inevitable demise. Jesse St. James.

The senator was talking to an older couple, clearly impressing them with his charm and confidence. His wife Quinn was at his side, smiling sweetly as she laid her hand on her husband's arm. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, the two of them the very picture of a loving, devoted couple. It was no wonder that St. James had been picked to run; he and his wife were a relatively young, attractive couple with a seven month old baby. The image presented was exactly what the struggling party needed, a way to connect with the younger voters in a way that their previous selections had failed to do. Even pundits who disagreed with his politics couldn't help but mention that St. James brought a fresh, contemporary feel to a party often painted as being stodgy or ridiculously old-fashioned. He spoke passionately in his speeches about his desire to lead the country in a direction that would make it an ideal place for his daughter to grow up in, and her future children as well. And it was working. Early polls showed that not only was St. James's approval rating sky-high among Republican voters, he was winning over the all-important swing voters as well. Most news sources and political blogs were reporting that he was a shoo-in for the official nomination at the upcoming Republican National Convention. They were also predicting his defeat of the incumbent Democratic President, even though the election was several months away.

It had taken three weeks for Kurt and Dave to gather enough intel and the necessary supplies to be prepared to move forward. Half of it had been spent in the safehouse in Lima, the other in the D.C. area, where they switched hotels every two days. They worked long hours, sleeping little and stealing only a few brief opportunities to make love. It was difficult, because their desire for each other hadn't lessened a bit, but they knew the temporary sacrifice would be worth it. Once they were free, they could make up for all kinds of lost time.

As Dave grabbed a canapé off of a silver serving platter and popped it into his mouth, he finally saw what he'd been waiting for. St. James lifted the drink he was holding to his lips and finished it off. He gestured to a server, a petite woman with striking red hair, who came over and took the empty glass from him. Dave swallowed quickly and followed her to the bar, where she handed over the glass to the bartender and waited for him to make a fresh drink. He walked up to her and stood, as if waiting to catch the busy bartender's attention for a drink of his own. "Poor guy's got his work cut out from him tonight, with this crowd," said Dave, smiling amiably.

The woman looked at him, a little surprised. Dave knew that the wait staff was usually far beneath the notice of the people who attended these types of events. "It's a busy night, for sure," she responded, in a girlish, almost lisping voice. Her huge brown eyes seemed cautious as she took in his expensive tuxedo, his Movado watch.

"I gotta tell you, I never come to these things," he said. "My uncle's architecture firm, they've donated a boatload of money to Jesse St. James's campaign. I just started working there a couple of months ago, and when Uncle Lee had to go out of town unexpectedly, he told me I needed to 'represent the family business'", he said, making finger quotes in the air. "It's not my thing at all. My idea of a great Saturday night is sitting home with a few beers and a Mad Men marathon, personally."

As expected, the woman's guarded expression dropped from her face immediately. "Sure sounds a lot better than my Saturday night, too," she said, laughing a little. "I love Mad Men."

"My name is Kevin, by the way," Dave said, holding out his hand. "Kevin Schick."

"Emma," the woman said, taking the offered hand and shaking it, her cheeks dimpling in a smile. "Emma Pillsbury." She let go as the bartender finally set St. James's drink down on the bar.

"Look, speaking of things I never do," Dave said, with his most appealing smile. "Would you like to maybe get some coffee or something sometime? I just moved here to Washington for the job, and I hardly know anyone. It would be nice to see a familiar face across the table from me in Starbucks for a change. My treat, of course."

Emma looked him up and down again, then over to the drink and to where the Senator was standing. She looked back at Dave with a genuine, pleased smile. "Sure," she said shyly. "That sounds nice. But I really need to deliver this drink, before I get in trouble."

"No problem," said Dave, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. "Why don't you put your number in my contacts real quick, and I'll give you a call tomorrow?"

"Okay," Emma agreed, taking the phone and navigating to the "Add Contact" button.

As soon as Dave saw Emma drop her gaze and begin fiddling with the phone, he acted. He slipped a small vial out of his pocket, thumbing the stopper off as he did. Moving to lean onto the bar with his elbow, he dumped a miniscule amount of white powder into St. James's drink, where it instantly dissolved into the dark liquid. He put the empty vial back into his pocket and picked up the drink, holding it out to Emma when she finished keying her number into his phone. "Trade you," he said brightly.

Emma handed the phone back and took the drink. "I should be around most of the day tomorrow," she said. "Call anytime after nine am. I like to sleep in after nights like this."

"I don't blame you," said Dave. "Will do. It was nice meeting you, Emma."

"Nice meeting you too, Kevin," Emma said. "I'll be looking forward to your call."

Dave watched closely as Emma walked away, putting a smirk on his face so anyone watching would think he was just checking out her ass as she departed. She arrived at St. James's side and handed him the drink. St. James nodded in thanks, and then took a large swig of the liquid. Dave quickly hit the text button on his phone, typing the word _done_ and hitting the send button in less than five seconds. He started heading for the door, moving at a normal, casual pace so as not to attract attention. As soon as he hit the door, he heard Quinn St. James, shrill and loud.

"Jesse? Honey, what is it? _Jesse!_"

Dave moved into the ballroom lobby, hearing someone shout "Call nine-one-one!" from behind him. He made a left and then another left, then went through the door of a custodial closet and shut it firmly behind him. Dave got on a stool and moved a ceiling tile, removing the bag he'd stashed there earlier. He pulled out the contents, stripped off everything but his underwear, and changed into the clothes he'd brought along. He then put on the final two items, a silk scarf and long wool dress coat, which he buttoned up quickly. Dave stuffed his discarded clothes into the bag and exited the closet, tossing the bag into a garbage chute before making his way to the elevators. He checked the time on his phone, pleased to see that only four minutes had passed since St. James had consumed the cyanide laced drink. Dave hadn't put enough in to kill the man, but the half-gram he'd added was enough to give him some very alarming and unpleasant symptoms; racing heart, difficulty breathing, dizziness and nausea.

Reaching the ground floor, Dave walked out the front doors, where he could hear the sound of a siren approaching in the distance. He stood next to the one of the pillars that lined the entrance, unbuttoning his coat and pulling the edges together with his hands. The ambulance pulled up right in front of him, lights flashing and siren wailing. There were people milling about, but they were all looking at the emergency vehicle, so no one noticed when Dave whipped off his jacket, revealing the paramedics uniform he was wearing beneath it. The ambulance driver got out, circled around the vehicle, and opened the back doors. Dave walked the three short steps to the back of the ambulance, reaching in along with the driver to pull out the stretcher. Turning his head to the side, he met the driver's eyes and nodded. Kurt, wearing a matching uniform, shot Dave a quick wink as the equipment was hauled out. Dave pulled out two orange trauma bags and a defibrillator, throwing them on top of the stretcher. The two men rolled it rapidly into the lobby, where they were met by a man in a suit with a gold _Gaylord National Ballrooms_ pin attached to his lapel.

"Come with me," he said urgently. I'll take you to the service elevators; it's the fastest way to the Cherry Blossom Room. I'm not sure what happened, but I'm told Senator Jesse St. James has collapsed."

Shortly Dave and Kurt found themselves in the ballroom, where a crowd had gathered around St. James. "Out of the way, please!" shouted Kurt. The people parted, and they could then see the situation at hand. The senator was lying on the floor, sweating and panting. Someone had undone his tie and opened the first few buttons on his shirt. There was a small pool of vomit next to him. Quinn sat on her knees, crying and grasping his hand desperately, moaning Jesse's name over and over like a mantra. Two suited men, obviously part of St. James's security detail, stood on either side of his prone form. "You need to move out of the way, ma'am," said Kurt.

"No," Quinn sobbed. "Jesse, he needs me!"

One of the security men came over and gently pulled the woman to her feet. "Come on, Mrs. St. James," he said. "Let these men do their job."

"What happened?" asked Kurt. Dave kept his head down and let his partner do the talking. He didn't see Emma anywhere, but if she was around he didn't want her to recognize his face or voice.

"I don't know," cried Quinn. "He was just standing there, talking. He was fine, and then he said he felt strange and the next thing I knew he was on the ground. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with my husband?"

"I don't know, ma'am," said Kurt. "It could be a lot of different things. We need to get him stabilized and to the hospital as quickly as possible, so the doctors can take a look at him." He shifted his focus to Dave. "We need to bag him, Jim." Dave reached into one of the trauma bags, pulling out a long tube of plastic, and a bulb shaped device with a plastic bag on the end of it. "Mr. St. James?" Kurt said. "We're going to do something that should make breathing a little easier for you. Please just try to relax and stay still." Kurt took the endotracheal tube from Dave and inserted it carefully into St. James's windpipe. He could hear Quinn gasp and begin to cry more loudly. Kurt then attached the bag valve mask and started squeezing the bulb in slow, even presses. "Is that better?" he asked.

St. James nodded, weakly. Dave went over and collapsed the stretcher to floor level, so he and Kurt could lift the senator onto it. Dave covered him in a blanket and strapped him in, then raised the stretcher back to normal height. They began rolling him out of the room, Quinn and the two security guards following along with them. After a quick trip back down the service elevator, they brought the stretcher through the lobby and to the back doors of the ambulance. After the stretcher was lifted into the vehicle and locked into place, Kurt exited and went around to the front to get in the cab.

One of the security guards and Quinn tried to climb into the ambulance, but Dave stopped them. "Sorry, guys," he said. "Only one person can ride along in the back."

"This man is a presidential candidate," said the guard. "You'll have to make an exception."

"No, I can't," said Dave. "If he crashes, I won't have the room I need to work if we're over capacity. Either you or the lady, take your pick." The ambulance started up, the lights beginning to flash.

"Come on, Jim!" shouted Kurt from the front seat. "What's the holdup? I radioed our ETA at eight minutes out. We need to move this bus!"

"Decide now, or we're leaving without either of you," said Dave. "We're trying to save his life, and every second counts."

"Mrs. St. James, you'll have to ride with Carl," said the security guard, motioning to the man behind him. "One of us has to be with each of you in a situation like this. You can meet us at the hospital."

"No!" cried Quinn. "Noah, please. You have to make them let me go with Jesse!"

Noah climbed into the back of the ambulance, while Carl took Quinn by the arms and started pulling her away. He nodded at Dave, and settled into place beside the senator. Dave pulled the doors shut, and with that, Kurt fired up the sirens and began driving away at a breakneck speed.

Dave and Kurt had fully expected this to happen; in fact, everything so far had unfolded entirely as planned. They were lucky that the election was so far away, they didn't need to deal with the Secret Service. But candidates were only afforded Secret Service protection in the 120 days leading up to election day, so St. James was limited to hiring his own private security. Which would undoubtedly be good, but inevitably nowhere near as good as Kurt and Dave.

"How's he doing?" asked Kurt from the front seat, after a while. "We're about three minutes out."

"Stable so far," answered Dave. The perfectly normal sounding question was in fact a cue that they were nearing their destination. "I'm gonna do a quick BP check, though." The blood pressure cuff was hanging on the side of the ambulance, directly above Noah's head. Dave came around the foot of the stretcher, leaning forward. "Excuse my reach," he said. But instead of taking the cuff, he instead grabbed the man in a headlock, gripped the side of his face, and snapped his neck. It made a sound like a dry stick breaking, and Dave looked up to see that St. James was struggling against his restraints, eyes as wise as saucers.

Kurt cut the sirens and lights immediately. "Almost there, Dave," he said. "About a minute to go." The ambulance slowed to a normal cruising speed, and after a couple of turns, it came to a complete stop.

Dave opened up the back door of the ambulance, dragging the security guard's body out and tossing it into the underbrush. Kurt came around the side of the vehicle, and Dave took a moment to grab him into a fast kiss before they climbed into the back with their target.

Kurt went to the side of the stretcher, taking hold of the top of St. James's endotracheal tube. He slid the tube out, causing the man to sputter and choke. "Easy there," said Kurt, thumping St. James on the chest, his eyes alight with malicious mischief. "Don't even think about yelling, by the way. We're in Fort Foote National Park, and at nearly eleven pm I can assure you there's not a soul around to hear for miles."

"Who are you people?" St. James asked shakily. "What is this? Are you trying to scare me into dropping out of the race?"

Dave laughed. "Really, St. James?" he said. "Don't be an idiot. This has nothing to do with politics, and everything to do with the fact that you're a hypocritical scumbag with a bad habit of ordering hits on people who should never, ever be fucked with."

When no recognition crossed St. James's face, Kurt picked up where Dave left off. "I'm not surprised you still don't know who we are," he said. "After all, we're not the first people you've, ah…arranged to have taken care of. First there was that woman from three years ago, that worked in your campaign headquarters? Went missing, poor thing. The cops focused on her husband, since he was known to have a temper and a drinking problem. A dangerous combination, for sure. But we're thinking it's more likely that she was threatening to spill the beans about how _close_ the two of you sometimes worked after hours.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said St. James. He was still nauseous and breathing heavily, though it was difficult to separate his symptoms from the poison with the those from utter, abject fear.

"Then there was that reporter," added Dave. "Managed to dig up that your wife apparently still requires a regular Percocet prescription, even though her c-section was seven months ago. On top of the anti-depressants and diet pills, she's like a living, breathing Walgreens. Be pretty bad for the wholesome image if that little nugget got out, but luckily for you there was that fire. Electrical, right Kurt?"

"That's what the Fire Marshal said," Kurt confirmed. "That apartment building was brand new construction and everything, so very surprising. But I guess you never know."

St. James snapped, the panic and loss of control finally too much for him. "Just tell me who the fuck you are!" he screamed, bucking against the straps that held him in place.

Kurt reached around to the back of his pants, drawing out a gun with a silencer attached. "We're the biggest mistake you've ever made," he said with a smirk. "When you pit hit men against hit men, you'd better be sure the best part of that equation is on your side. But sadly for you, the best men for the job - namely, us - were the only ones who wouldn't be able to take it. We were the targets, so you were fucked before you even picked up the phone, Senator."

"Look…" said St. James, staring at the gun nervously, finally realizing who had him at their mercy.

"The funny part is," said Dave, "you were never in any danger. Neither Kurt nor I had any interest in those pictures at the Fox Hole. No decent mercenary lets himself get distracted from the job at hand."

"Well," said Kurt, leering at Dave openly. "There are exceptions to that rule."

Dave chuckled. "This is true," he said. "My partner over there, for example…very distracting." He licked his lips, letting his gaze go hot as his eyes appreciated Kurt's form in the close fitting uniform.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I do my best," he said. He turned to look at St. James, who was looking at them with an expression of one part disbelief, one part disgust. "Oh dear," Kurt said, his voice going even more high and effeminate. "I think we're making the senator uncomfortable, lover."

"Good thing he won't have to put up with it much longer," said Dave, with mock cheerfulness.

The unpleasant look disappeared from St. James's face instantly. "I'll call off the hit," he said, trying for his vote-winning smile and managing a vague approximation. "Give me your phone, I can take care of it right now."

"You'll excuse us for not trusting you on that," said Kurt, turning serious.

"We didn't get this good by being stupid," said Dave. "No loose ends. And unfortunately for you, you're the loosest end of all, St. James. It would have been easy to double the cyanide in your drink, you know. You'd have most likely been dead before the real paramedics got there."

"But most likely's not good enough," said Kurt. "We needed to get you somewhere alone, where we could make absolutely sure you'd never be a problem for us again." He leveled the gun at St. James's head. "And here we are."

"I'll pay you!" yelled the senator, white-faced and trying unsuccessfully to scrabble backwards from the barrel. "Anything you want! Anything!"

"The only thing we want is each other," said Dave.

"And only your death can make that happen," said Kurt. "Goodbye, Senator St. James."

Kurt pulled the trigger, sending a .22 caliber slug directly into the man's forehead. The red rose of a wound opened up, spilling bright red blood into his open, sightless eyes. Beneath his dark hair, the white sheet on the stretcher became saturated with the crimson liquid. Without a doubt, Jesse St. James was dead.

For a moment, neither Kurt nor Dave moved. It was so quiet they could hear the soft patter as St. James's blood began to drip off the edge of the pillowcase onto the metal floor of the ambulance. Finally Kurt stirred, engaging the safety on his gun and laying it on the dead man's chest. He turned to Dave, seeing a hot, triumphant joy in his eyes that he imagined must be perfectly mirrored in his own. Kurt slowly edged around the side and end of the stretcher until he was a couple of steps from Dave, then pounced.

Dave's head banged on the side of the vehicle behind him, Kurt's weight and momentum pinning him between it and his side of the stretcher. Kurt crashed their lips together, thrusting his tongue inside and clutching Dave's hair in an iron grip. Dave returned his passion, moaning and grabbing hold of Kurt's ass in his big hands. What they had worked so hard for, what they both wanted and needed so badly was finally theirs. The knowledge snapped both of their controls in an instant.

Kurt nipped at Dave's lips, cheeks and chin. _Mine mine mine_, his mind babbled. _Finally, mine_. He tried to wedge himself between the stretcher and Dave, but there wasn't enough room. "Fuck," Kurt gasped. "Need more space. Need you."

Logically, Dave knew they should get the hell out of there. About a quarter-mile up the road was a car they had driven up earlier in the day, with a change of clothes for each of them in the trunk. But logic had been running the show for the last three weeks; now that they were victorious, good old-fashioned lust refused to be denied. "Yeah," he panted. "Gotta be fast...quick. But now, need you now too, Kurt."

Kurt released Dave's hair, bringing his hands to Dave's shirt and tugging strongly. "Outside," he said.

They both climbed out of the ambulance. When they had their feet on the ground, Dave took Kurt by the shoulders and pressed him up against the bumper. Knowing time was short, they kept clothing removal to a minimum, tearing open each other's pants and dragging them down just enough so their hard cocks and tight balls were free. Dropping his dick on top of Kurt's, Dave brought his hands to Kurt's mouth, cupping them slightly. Kurt worked up a mouthful of saliva and spit it into Dave's hands, watching as Dave rubbed his palms together to spread the makeshift lubricant. He brought his wet hands to their erections and circled them, creating a warm, damp tunnel for them both to thrust into. Which they began to do, quite eagerly.

Dave pumped his hips rapidly, squeezing their lengths together just short of painfully tight. Kurt's lower back dug uncomfortably into the bumper, but he was so far gone, he was hardly aware of it. The smooth skin of Dave's cock contrasted with the feel of his rough, calloused palms, creating an incredible friction. Baring his teeth, Kurt reached up and back to find something to hold onto, to ground him so he didn't fly apart. He locked onto the bottom of the stretcher, digging his fingers in and twisting the sheets madly. The senator's motionless foot hit the top of his hands every time Dave pushed his hips forward, driving Kurt up; but like the discomfort in his back, he barely was able to acknowledge it.

They hadn't had each other in days, so it was a good thing they were in a hurry. The edge was approaching fast for both of them, even faster than usual. As their orgasms drew near, so did the realization that this was truly the beginning of their new life together. It washed over both men, the emotional pleasure adding to the physical, and suddenly they were there. Kurt came first with a muffled cry, and Dave's hands worked his come over their cocks until they were both coated and slippery with it. Dave followed shortly, unable to keep a grunt that sounded a lot like Kurt's name from escaping his lips. They thrust more gently against each other, Dave's heavy grip loosening as they softened. Tiny wisps of steam rose from their combined come into the frigid night air. Dave finally let go, wiping his messy hands on his shirt, since it would be discarded soon anyway.

"Mmmmm…" hummed Kurt, happily. "Come here and kiss me."

Dave obliged, kissing Kurt tenderly on the lips, then on the side of his nose. Kurt's face was glowing, completely blissed out and almost sleepy. It was a face that was becoming familiar to him, Kurt's gorgeous post-coital face, and God how Dave loved to see it on his pillow, or his arm. He knew he'd be able to see it every day for the rest of his life now, and the thought filled him with such overwhelming happiness, he feared he might burst from it. There were no words to describe what it was like, to feel so much for another person after years of nothing, with only the promise of more of the same to come. It was like a cool glass of water after years of thirst, or a warm blanket after endless shivering in the cold. But looking into Kurt's deeply satisfied, aquamarine eyes, he knew that if there was a word for it, there was no question for him what it was. "I love you," he said, trying the words on his tongue for the first time in his life.

Kurt's eyes went wide. He knew he loved Dave, had known it somewhere deep inside himself since the morning he woke up in his strong arms. Kurt had held off saying anything these last few weeks, because he didn't want him to feel pressured; it wasn't Dave's fault he had no frame of reference for any of this. He didn't need to say the words, or hear them. Just knowing how he felt inside, every time they looked at each other, that was enough for him. And maybe Kurt didn't _need _to hear them, but it didn't mean he didn't _wan_t to. Or that hearing them didn't feel, at that moment, like the best thing that had ever happened to him. There was a dead man behind him, another just a few feet away, jizz smeared all over Dave's shirt, and pretty soon they were going to be the most wanted men in the country. Not the usual setting for a declaration of love, but then again, they were about as far from usual as a couple could get. Somehow, it was just perfectly them. He smiled and huffed out a laugh. "I love you too, Dave," he said. Kurt peeled himself off the bumper, wincing a little at the soreness in his back. He reached for Dave's hand and tugged him in for another kiss. "We should get going."

"Yeah," Dave agreed. "We should." Still holding hands, they started down the road to their getaway vehicle.

Dave and Kurt had a whole new life ahead of them, and neither one could wait to start living it.

_**In my world, Kurt and Dave always deserve a happy ending, even if they are brutal murderers this time around. The muse will simply have it no other way, and I sure don't feel like arguing with her on that score. ;)**_

_**There's still an epilogue to come, but in the meantime, I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter. It's certainly different than anything I've written before, and while I'm super proud of it, reader feedback is still the only way I know if I've really done my job well. I would love to hear your comments on the assassination, the smut…anything that comes to mind, really. Your reviews really do mean the world to me, and every review alert makes my day twenty times brighter than it was before.**_


	9. Epilogue

_**And so we come to the end of Fatal Kiss. Writing this has been an amazing experience for me, and I've actually learned a lot along the way (like how you clean a gun, or where most political fundraising events are held in Washington DC). But mostly, I've learned that I can write stories and characters that are outside of the cannon universe of Glee, and still have people wanting to read them. I didn't know if I could do it, and without all of your kindness and encouragement, I don't think I could have. Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and enjoying.**_

The sun was starting to creep towards the horizon, the palm trees becoming shadowed as a warm tropical breeze rustled their leaves. Dave was relaxing in his wicker chair, enjoying the view, when he heard the creaking of footsteps behind him. "I could set my watch by you," he said, smiling and twisting around. Kurt, right on schedule, was standing there in cargo shorts and a black tank top, holding a glass of white wine in each hand.

"Are you saying I've become too predictable?" asked Kurt, grinning and handing over a glass to Dave. "Getting tired of me already?" He sat in the second wicker porch chair, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well, it _has_ been three years," Dave said, teasingly. When Kurt turned his head and sniffed, pretending to be offended, Dave brushed his fingers over the back of Kurt's hand where it rested on the chair arm. He picked it up and pressed a small kiss into it, which made Kurt turn his head back to him, obviously biting back a smile. "But no. I don't think you're capable of boring me, Kurt."

"I should think not," said Kurt airily, before dropping the pretense and settling back in his chair. He took a sip of wine and sighed happily. "Did you get the ladies milked?" he asked.

"Of course," said Dave. "Everyone's got fresh straw, feed, and is all settled in for the night." He looked out over the vibrant green grass of their ranch's pasture. "Nothing left to do but sit back and enjoy the spoils."

The "spoils" was Kurt and Dave's 250 acre ranch just outside the village of Salvaterra, on Ilha de Marajo, a Brazillian island at the mouth of the Amazon River. It was the perfect place for two men who wanted to disappear; the island was only accessible via a three-and-a-half hour ferry ride from Belem, across the Baia de Marajo. Technically it was considered a tourist destination, but only the most adventurous and hardy travelers visited the area. Accommodations tended towards the rustic, and transportation consisted of a few scattered taxicabs, bicycles, and water-buffalo drawn carts. The water buffalo, which densely populated the entire island, were part of everyday life in Salavaterra. Every resident's diet included buffalo meat and buffalo mozzarella cheese on a near daily basis. Kurt and Dave owned ten of the enormous, surprisingly docile beasts themselves. But the limited tourists who did visit provided the need for some of the nicer hotels and restaurants in town to stock a decent supply of wine, beer and foodstuffs. Kurt and Dave made arrangements to directly purchase these items for their own use, and when added to their large garden of vegetables, fruits and herbs, Kurt was able to prepare whatever delicious meals he wanted. In addition to the small water buffalo herd, their ranch housed a bustling chicken coop (plenty of fresh eggs) and two beautiful, strong horses for them around the ranch and to town.

Running the ranch kept them both quite busy. While neither Kurt nor Dave had any rural farming or ranching experience, like anything else they learned the ropes and mastered them quickly. In what spare time they had, they tended to read, or watch a DVD movie from their small collection. But many times they chose to just sit and talk about a million insignificant things, or retire to their bedroom to make love for hours. Lying nude on their bed in the afterglow, their perspiration damp bodies cooled by the soft island breeze from the open window, Kurt and Dave reveled in the paradise that they had found in this place, and with each other.

"Do you think they'll ever find us?" Kurt asked quietly. It wasn't the first time he'd asked the question. And sometimes, it was Dave asking it instead of him. When they'd first moved to Salvaterra, the question had been frequently discussed; but as months and then years passed, it came up less and less often. Kurt wondered if there would ever be a time when they wouldn't feel the need to bring it up, but he doubted it. He figured that he and Dave cherished what they had built too much to ever completely lose the fear that it could be taken from them.

Dave stilled even more for a moment, but then relaxed and took a drink of his wine. They were never flip or offhanded when the subject was brought up. The stakes were too high for that to happen. Dave considered, taking a deep breath. He could smell the ripe mangoes hanging heavy on the trees; hear the distinctive _whoot whoot_ call of the scarlet ibis; and feel the warm breeze on his face. "At times like this," he answered, "seems like the answer is no. It's been a long time, and there hasn't even been a whiff of trouble. We're pretty good at tying up loose ends, it seems. Even gave both Schuesters a full refund in their bank accounts."

"Don't forget the referrals," said Kurt. The day after Kurt and Dave fled the U.S., Santana Schuester received a visit from Tina Cohen-Chang, a female mercenary as beautiful and exotic looking as she was deadly. Will Schuester had a gentleman caller by the name of Sam Evans, whose boyish good looks made him a master of social engineering. Kurt and Dave both agreed that if they were going to hire anyone themselves, those two would be their top choices. They had no way of knowing how the job had turned out, but over time came to believe that Dennis Schuester's will had never really existed at all. What better way to make his son and ex-wife suffer from beyond the grave, than to lead them on an exhaustive, expensive search for something that could never actually be found? It sounded very much like something the man described to them would do.

They were similarly uninformed as to who had killed Rick Nelson and made off with the blackmail pictures, though they did have a theory. Dave was fairly sure that the most likely candidate was Sugar, possibly in cahoots with someone else from the club. She knew that Dave was looking for something, had been in Nelson's office looking for it. If she had gone into the office after Dave had left and seen the condition her boss had been left in, it might have made her curious about what all the effort and violence was about. Dave even admitted that he could have been remiss in not completely covering his tracks in regards to the floor safe. With Kurt holding a gun on him, and just being distracting in general, he knew the desk chair hadn't been put back, and he might not have done the most thorough job of putting the rug back into place. They occasionally wondered if whoever had taken the photos had managed to squeeze any money out of St. James before his death, but like the outcome of the Schuester will, mild curiosity was as strong as it got. That part of their life was behind them, and would remain so as long as the decision to keep it there was within their control. Which, of course, led back to Kurt's question.

"I'm sure the Feds are still looking," said Dave. "But I'm willing to bet the public outcry over St. James's loss has dwindled substantially. And every day our trail just keeps getting colder and colder." Dave stood up and reached for Kurt, pulling him out of his chair and in front of him, so his chest was against Kurt's back. He looped his arms around Kurt's waist and kissed his smooth, soft cheek. "It's unlikely, but they could still come for us. Someday."

"Maybe," said Kurt softly, "after all we've done, and the lives we've taken? Maybe we don't deserve all of this. All this…perfection."

"There are never any guarantees, Kurt," said Dave in a soothing voice. "Not even for regular people who have led the most harmless of lives. You know that better than anyone." Kurt didn't stiffen at Dave's words. The past three years had greatly healed the pain from losing his family, to the point where he could now talk about them for hours with Dave, laughing over the good times. Dave loved hearing about Kurt's memories; both because they made his lover happy, and because Kurt's storytelling skills made him almost feel as if he was there, sharing the warmth and love. "All we can do is make the most of every single day we have this. Whether it's one more, or thousands more."

Kurt turned in Dave's arms, and brushed a kiss across his lips. Dave was right, of course. And in the end, it didn't really matter. They would live out the rest of their lives on the ranch, one way or the other. They didn't have the type of weaponry that they'd had in the past, but every rancher had a few guns and ammunition on hand for hunting, and defending their livestock from predators. From the moment they arrived in Salverterra, they had both agreed that they would never leave their new home, no matter what the future held. "I love you," Kurt said.

"And I love you, sweetheart," responded Dave easily. It was almost ridiculous how quickly he had become used to expressing his love for Kurt in every way; through words, endearments, and sometimes with the gentle worship of his body in their bed. They both had become comfortable lacing tender lovemaking in with the vigorous, down and dirty fucking that they both still enjoyed. Dave felt whole and entirely fulfilled by his life with Kurt, and the only thing that made him happier was the knowledge that Kurt felt the same way.

"Are you ready for dinner?" asked Kurt, noting how dark it was getting on the porch. "I made Moqueca de Siri." Kurt had prided himself on expanding his cooking to include some of the local cuisine, and the stew made from small soft-shelled crabs, coconut milk, pepper and onions was one of their favorites.

"You don't have to ask me twice," said Dave, smiling. They both picked up their glasses of wine in one hand, and entwined the fingers of their free ones with the other. Together, they walked into their home, as the sun finally disappeared entirely from the horizon.

_**The. Freaking. End. :D**_

_**I hope I managed to do justice to these two amazing, complicated characters that somehow sprung from my brain. I just love them both so much, and I'm so happy many of you seem to feel the same. As always, please review if you can and let me know your thoughts on this final chapter.**_

_**While there was no way to really show what happened with the will or the blackmail pictures, I hope that Kurt and Dave's theories give you at least a little closure on the matter. You can consider them exactly what happened, or make up your own endings if you like. :) I wrote both parts originally as red herrings, to keep you all guessing as to where the story was going, but there were so many readers who wanted some kind of conclusion to those subplots, I just had to write it in. I think it makes for a better story overall, so thanks to all of you who asked for it. I'm especially pleased that so many of you were engaged by the non-Kurtofsky aspects of the story – it was an unexpected and enormous response.**_

_**For my next endeavor (for those of you who might be wondering), I'm going even further out on a limb. I'm going to write a non-Kurtofsky pairing, namely Kurtbastian. Not because I'm tired of Dave and Kurt, or have any plans to abandon writing Kurtofsky; I have just really been enjoying a great number of Kurtbastian stories (A Change in The Weather by cacophonylights is nothing short of brilliant), and feel like tossing my hat into the ring to see if I sink or swim. It's kind of scary because it opens me up to a whole new audience who may not have read my stuff before, but what's life without a risk or two? Hoping to see some of you on the other side. :)**_


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